Chuck vs the Strange Bedfellows
by sharpasamarble
Summary: 1x14: With Valentine's Day approaching, Chuck decides Sarah's tears on the helipad might indicate a change of heart about the two of them dating for real. But work gets in the way in a new, and possibly permanent, fashion.
1. Going for Broke

_Ed. Note: This episode is designed as episode 14, so it falls after "Chuck vs the Marlin" in the TV series._

_It also refers to two of my earlier fanfics: "Chuck vs Auld Lang Syne" (episode 11a), and "Chuck vs Five Men, One with a Knife" (episode 11b)._

_Standard disclaimers about Chuck not belonging to me in any way apply._

_Feedback is welcome, and appreciated._

**Scene I – Los Angeles, Park**

The only problem with getting what you want is that often you don't know what to do once you get it.

Sarah pondered the contradiction as she jogged through a park a few blocks from her hotel, her legs pumping in a steady rhythm. Los Angeles had been blessed with a warm, sunny day in early February. She was more than a little tired of the gym she had been using through the colder days of winter, so when she looked out her window at the glorious sunrise earlier that morning, she became determined to take advantage.

Her feet propelled her down the path at a rapid pace, pushing her past the many mid-morning joggers who seemed more interested in enjoying the weather than in getting a serious workout. She glanced down at her wrist; the pedometer on her sports watch indicated that she had nearly run her three miles. Up ahead, she spotted a water fountain splitting a pair of green park benches. Setting that as her target, she kicked into a final sprint.

Her running shoes knocked pebbles and dust into the air as she sprinted for her goal, her lithe legs difficult to see despite the relatively short length of the fitted black shorts she wore. With a final burst, she crossed the imaginary finish line. She gradually slowed, wiping the small beads of sweat off her face and onto the tails of her green Buy More T-shirt.

When she went to get dressed, she found she only had a choice between the Buy More T-shirt or the obnoxiously red Weinerlicious T-shirt that Scooter had given all his employees in an effort to drum up some advertising for the chain. However, she had no intention of being the cute blonde in the park wearing a T-shirt that said "Weinerlicious" in big letters.

Besides, the Buy More shirt reminded her of Chuck.

Carefully controlling her breathing to slow her heart rate, she walked over to take a long drink from the water fountain, savoring the refreshing coolness as it ran down the back of her dry throat. When she ran for her CIA job, there normally wasn't cold water waiting for her at the end, so she appreciated it all the more when there was.

Standing up, Sarah tightened her hair band around the unassuming pony tail she wore and stepped away from the fountain. Raising her arms above her head caused a readjustment of her anatomy that attracted some interest from a pair of frat boys walking past.

A tall guy with blond hair and a cocky expression walked past, spinning a football in the air between his hands. "Looking good, 'Buy More'."

Sarah gave the pair a sarcastic little nod as she finished adjusting her hair. The speaker turned to his buddy and added, "I'd sure like to 'eye a little more'."

The buddy, slightly shorter than his friend with dark hair and bright green eyes, gave a rough laugh and suggested, "Yeah, I wouldn't mind…" Sarah couldn't make out exactly what he said, as he was facing away from her as he spoke. However, she was pretty certain that she heard the word "thighs" ... and not such a nice word that rhymed with "more".

Her blood boiled. "Hey!" she shouted before she knew what she was doing.

The two guys turned around, a bit startled by her tone. She somewhat controlled her temper before continuing, "Does that type of thing really get girls for you?"

"You tell us," said the blond guy, a cocky expression on his face. "You're talking to us." His friend grinned his agreement.

Sarah took a moment to assess the two. She had to admit both were good-looking, and their athletic builds were shown off to good effect by the workout clothes they wore. Still, they had virtually no chance with her to begin with, and any chance they might have had was killed by their attitudes.

However, they didn't know that.

Deliberately eyeing them up and down suggestively, she made her way over to the pair. "I'm not really one for talking. I'm looking for a man who can, well, keep up with me."

The dark-haired student looked a little less certain of himself, but the other seemed to like her attitude. "Oh, I can keep up with you."

Focusing her twinkling eyes on the speaker, she said, "A girl's gotta have her standards."

"Like what?"

She walked around the back of the two, looking them up and down as if they were pieces of meat. Their nervousness was becoming palpable. _Good_, she thought.

She swung back around to the front of the speaker and replied, "Any man of mine has to have … stamina. Do you have stamina?" She accented her question by tracing her index finger down his chest, gazing straight into his eyes with a coquettish expression. She very deliberately bit her lower lip.

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. "Absolutely," he answered, although his confident façade, along with his voice, were beginning to show signs of cracking.

"Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind a little test."

"Test?"

"Sure. I've already run three miles, and I'm about to run five more. Whichever of you can keep up with me, I'll come to your place tonight, and, um, prepare a little something for you." Sarah looked hungrily at him.

"You should know I ran cross-country in high school."

"Are you still in high school?"

"Well, no."

"Then what does that matter?"

He had no answer.

She continued, "So, do you think you can keep up with me?" eyeing each in turn. They both nodded, beginning to regain their swagger. She could almost hear what they were thinking: _I can outrun any girl._

Well, she was no ordinary girl. "Shall we?"

The next mile was an exercise in humiliation for the two guys. After running half a mile, Sarah had built a significant lead; she stopped to untie and retie her right shoe. After waiting a few more seconds for the guys to catch up, she took off again, quickly opening up another gap.

She turned around and started running backwards. "C'mon, guys. You're letting me down here." The pair had no response, devoting their effort to catching up with her.

When the two started panting and wheezing a couple minutes later, she grew bored with the game. She had expected the pair to put up a good fight for at least half of the five miles, but apparently the two spent a little too much time drinking beer and not enough staying in shape. She gave them a shrug and then turned around and took off, a smile crossing her face.

The guys stopped running almost immediately, stooping over with their hands holding the bottom of their long shorts as they tried to catch their breath.

Sarah knew she enjoyed showing up the pair a little too much, but maybe that would slow them down the next time they decided to talk that way about a woman.

Probably not, but the image of the two crouched over in defeat was still a satisfying one.

After resetting her pedometer, she started the second half of her workout in earnest. Her legs quickly rediscovered their rhythm and she started to circle the large center green at a rapid pace.

Of course, she hadn't been exactly honest with the two. The man she really wanted probably hadn't run two consecutive miles in several years, but she didn't care about that.

What unfortunately did matter was that how she felt was a moot point. He was her asset, and as his handler, she needed to protect him at all costs. And that meant no distractions when they were together.

An elderly man obstructed her as he meandered down the path; she scampered around him on the grass and quickly reestablished her rhythm.

All of this was complicated because Chuck knew how she felt. He had suspected her feelings for a long time, long before she even recognized it. Or, at least, long before she would admit her feelings to herself.

Then he was going away … his cover was compromised by a Fulcrum agent, and he was to be extracted to an underground bunker for his own protection. It had been all she could do to keep from breaking down as he said his goodbyes. Even at the end, when it was clear she couldn't keep him from being extracted, he had shown his absolute trust in her.

As if affirming the thought, she was suddenly very conscious of the necklace bouncing around her neck. A smitten smile came to her face. He was the first person she had trusted in a long time, and the trust he had shown meant a lot to her.

Still, there was nothing to be done. Her mission was to protect him, and she couldn't do that if she was distracted by his smile. Or his sense of humor. Or his scent. Or his…

_Damn it. _There her mind went again, wandering off. This was exactly why nothing could happen while they worked together: she had enough trouble keeping her focus as it was. If she and Chuck ever went beyond their friendship, she would be useless as a handler.

Back when she first met Chuck, she never dreamed she could find herself excited about the times when she and Chuck were forced to date for their cover. At first, the evenings they spent "dating" has just been surprisingly comfortable, but over time they had come to mean more.

Last week, they had gone to a movie theater to watch a romantic comedy that Ellie really wanted to see; the two had spent most of the movie holding hands with her head on his shoulder. They both did subtle little things that went beyond what was necessary for the cover, with him re-adjusting the position of his hand in hers several times and her wrapping her other hand around his bicep when she felt particularly close to him.

Ironically, the two now found themselves in a situation where they were most like a couple when around Ellie and Devon, or Morgan and Anna. Inevitably, though, the double-dates would end, and one or both of them would withdraw, respecting how things had to be.

It was complicated, and only becoming more so.

Looking for a distraction, she lost herself in concentrating on her pace and her breathing. It truly was a glorious day, and she fully intended to enjoy it rather than mulling over problems that had no good solutions.

The path around the park was a little over a mile and a half long. As she completed her first lap at the water fountain, she saw a pair of familiar figures ahead. They spotted the green T-shirt and the bouncing blond pony tail and scurried off the path to avoid another encounter. She smiled; she would wager a lot that they wouldn't think the same way about a Buy More any time soon.

Thinking of the Buy More quickly led her to think about Chuck again. She somehow managed to work a sigh into her breathing pattern.

**Scene II – Buy More**

"Gentlemen of the Buy More, please report to the Nerd Herd desk." Lester's voice was clearly heard throughout the empty store; the surprisingly nice weather meant that the usual customers were finding being outside more enjoyable than examining the latest in fine electronic goods and appliances. As usual, the bored Buy More employees were finding questionable ways to pass the time.

Jeff stood next to Lester, holding the fish bowl usually used for gathering business cards via cheap promotions. It currently held a small set of folded pieces of paper. Morgan, various other green shirts and Chuck curiously wandered over, gathering in a rough semicircle around the pair.

Deciding everyone who was coming had arrived, Lester clapped his hands. "Behold! The time for Lester's Lottery of Love has arrived once again."

Chuck said, "Not by coincidence, the time has also arrived for the Buy More legal staff to ensure that their sexual harassment insurance policies are fully funded."

"Ah, but dating between co-workers at Buy More is perfectly legal, right Morgan?"

With a smug grin, Morgan responded, "Legal and, might I add, oh-so-satisfying at break time."

Chuck said, "OK, a little too much information there, buddy."

"Dude, if dating at work is wrong, I don't want to be right."

Lester, sensing he was losing control, interjected, "That's what I'm saying. So, I've arranged a little contest. I've put everyone's name into the bowl; we'll draw a name. The person whose name is drawn will have 24 hours to get Lisa to go out on a date with him."

Chuck immediately lost interest. "Well, you can count me out. I already have a girlfriend."

Morgan said, "Likewise. Anna comes back on Valentine's Day; I'm not about to muck things up." They both took a step back from the rest of the crowd; however, they couldn't resist hanging around to see how the train wreck ended.

Lester looked annoyed, but pressed on. "OK, so all the _single_ Buy More men will be eligible for the drawing."

Jeff raised a hand, which certainly did nothing to alleviate Lester's annoyance. "Yes, Jeff?"

"I object to the term 'single'. I prefer 'romantically challenged'."

Lester immediately ignored him. "So all the single men in the store will be eligible, and the winner of the drawing gets the first 'chance' to ask the lovely Lisa out." Lester pointed to the back of the store, where Lisa lingered in the computer peripheral section, looking curiously at the gathering in the center of the store. Sensing everyone's attention on her, she quickly looked away, developing an intense interest in the bundles of CAT5 cable on the rack to her left.

Lisa was about as shy a girl as could be found; she didn't talk to the other employees unless given absolutely no choice. She looked a bit frumpy in her over-sized green Buy More polo, and her pants were about two sizes too big, creating awkward lines as they hung askew on her frame. She wore dark-rimmed glasses that matched her frizzy black hair, currently pulled back in a loose pony tail using a dark green corduroy hair band.

Lester continued, "After 24 hours, if the original winner is unsuccessful in getting a date, we'll draw another name. This will continue once a day up to and including Valentine's Day, which means up to four lucky men will get their chance."

The various employees looked more than a little nervous at the idea; Lester decided to draw before anyone else backed out. "And the lucky winner is…" he said as he stirred through the slips of paper with his hand. He pulled out a slip and finished his thought despondently, "Lester."

He looked angrily over at Jeff. "How did my name get in there?" he hissed.

Jeff shrugged. "You told me to put the names of all the men in there."

"Not all of them, you dimwit."

Chuck and Morgan were thoroughly enjoying Lester's discomfort. "No, no, Lester, you're up," Chuck said.

Morgan added, "Yeah, show us how it's done, big guy. You're always bragging on your 'mad dating skills'."

Lester regrouped quickly, trying to act confident. "Well, the only reason I was making a fuss is I wanted one of the lonely guys to have a chance. The game's over too quickly this way. But I tell you what I'll do: I'll step aside if somebody else wants the first crack."

Almost in unison, the single men in the crowd held up their hands, muttering things like, "No," "No way," and "Uh uh."

The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving Jeff and a shell-shocked Lester standing alone by the Nerd Herd desk, the latter still clutching the winning piece of paper in his hand. Chuck and Morgan directed one final smirk at Lester before turning around to walk away.

Turning to his friend, Lester asked, "What about you?"

"No, thanks. I kinda like what I've got going on."

"Jeff, the only thing you've got going on is that you're paying for sex."

"I'm not paying for the sex; I'm paying for them to leave."

Lester shook his head. "Trust me, Jeff: you're paying for the sex. They're happy to throw in the leaving for free." With a disgusted look on his face, Lester walked away, leaving a slightly insulted Jeff standing alone with both hands supporting the fish bowl.

Meanwhile, Morgan and Chuck wandered across the store. "So, you have big Valentine's Day plans for you and Anna?" Chuck asked.

"Not really. I figured we'd just go hang out at her place and catch up on her trip."

Chuck directed an incredulous expression towards Morgan. "You're a little bit nuts if you think Anna's not expecting anything more than that."

"I don't know, Chuck. I'm so bad at Valentine's Day. Remember how Ellie reacted to the gift I got her?"

"Well, you were fourteen, she actively loathed you, and you gave her a used Super Mario Brothers video game with a Post-it note that said 'How about a little Italian tonight?'"

"It was my most prized possession, Chuck."

"Yeah, well, this one might work out a little better, what with Anna actually liking you and all."

"What about you? Big plans for Sarah?"

Chuck hesitated a moment before responding, "I have an idea or two."

He knew he couldn't share the details of what was happening between Sarah and him, but over the past few days he had come to a decision. The scene on the rooftop had shown him two things: he could be taken away at any time, and Sarah's feelings for him went beyond friendship.

Before, the idea that he could be taken away was an abstract concept he couldn't get his head around. But standing on the wind-swept helipad, waiting with the CIA agent who was going to escort him to his cell in an underground bunker somewhere, it had suddenly crystallized just how little say he had in all of this.

When you're not sure if there's a tomorrow, all there is to live for is today. Chuck wasn't sure how it would turn out, but he was going for broke this Valentine's Day.

**Scene III – DNI, General Beckman's Office**

General Beckman said, "And you're sure the Intersect will be adequately protected during her absence?"

"We'll basically bench the team for the time being. Just in case, we'll send a replacement agent already known to Chuck to take her place for the time being," Director Graham answered. "He'll be safe."

"And if Agent Walker doesn't return?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."


	2. Departure

**Scene IV – Weinerlicious**

The bell on the door gave a friendly ring as Chuck entered the store. Sarah finished an order for a fairly large customer wearing a green windbreaker and a plain baseball cap of the matching color; he toted a tray with corn dogs stacked like cord word outside to enjoy the greasy goodness in the bright sunlight.

Decked out in her uniform, she gave Chuck a humorous smile as he walked up to the counter, dragging a wet rag across the counter. "Guten tag, un willkommen a Weinerlicious."

He smiled back fondly. "You know, I never get tired of hearing you say that."

"I do get a little tired of saying it. Forty or fifty times a day gets to be a little much." She finished wiping off the counter, throwing the rag into a bucket on the floor. "What's going on?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about Valentine's Day."

Her face became a bit conflicted as he brought up the subject. "Come up with a good cover activity for us?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

He hesitated, the way he often did when trying to bring up a difficult subject. Given the past week or two, she had a good idea what he might be thinking. Despite herself, her heart raced as she watched him summon his courage.

Shrugging, he finally said, "I'll just dive right into it: I was thinking that maybe we should reconsider the idea of us actually dating for real."

_Oh, no._ She was right. "Chuck, I don't think …"

"Look, given the rooftop and the gunfight and the idea that I could disappear for good at any time … I don't want to wait for a day when we're no longer working together. Heck, when that happens, we may not have a chance to be together." He stared at her with intensity and just a touch of plaintiveness. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been; I just want whatever time we might have together, however it might all work out. What's wrong with that?"

Sarah's heart was a leaden weight in her chest. He was saying all the things she could ever hope he would say to her. All the things she really, really wanted him to say to her.

She sorely wished things could be different, but they couldn't be. How could she tell him?

Sensing her discomfort, Chuck came to her rescue. "I don't need an answer right now. Please, just think about it over the next couple of days. And I know that you don't like to talk about these things, so I'll make it easy for you. If you decide you want to give us a chance, show up to Ellie's apartment at 7 pm on Valentine's Day; I'll cook dinner for you. If you want to keep our cover just a cover, show up late. You won't need to say a thing, and we can still keep our cover intact."

Sarah took a long, miserable moment before answering, "OK, Chuck." She forced a smile. She didn't know what else to do.

He simply said, "Thanks," and offered a gentle, re-assuring smile. 

_Here I am, unable to answer, and he's still trying to take care of me, _she thought_. _That just made things even harder.

The two shared an awkward silence; she found herself struggling to look him in the eye. Once again, Chuck rescued her. "Hey, I've got to get back to the Buy More to keep the troops in line, but we can catch up later. You won't believe what Lester is up to."

"Sounds good." She hoped her tone sounded convincing.

He headed for the exit. As he opened the door, he turned back towards her to flash one more terrific smile; she couldn't help but smile back. She offered him a tentative wave as he left; the bell gave a mournful ring as the door shut behind him. She unconsciously lowered her hand. "Goodbye, Chuck," she whispered to the empty restaurant. Glancing under the counter, she irrationally checked to make sure her travel bag was still there.

When she had returned from her morning jog, there was a voice mail from Director Graham waiting for her. Details on her mission were sketchy. She only knew where she was going; she was to be briefed once she landed. Her flight took off in about six hours.

She didn't have permission to tell Chuck that she was leaving; in fact, her instructions explicitly forbid her from revealing her departure to him. Maybe that was all for the best: she had no idea what she would have said. But she couldn't help wondering if she'd be coming back: all she knew was that Graham felt this assignment took priority over guarding the Intersect, which meant that it was something very important, and likely very dangerous as well.

Heck, given that Fulcrum seemed to be growing ever closer, she had to wonder if Chuck would still be here when she returned. Any day, Beckman or Graham could make the call to move Chuck to a 'safe location', a pleasant-sounding euphemism for what amounted to a prison sentence in an underground bunker.

She had spent the past couple of hours in a fog, numbly going about her packing while trying not to think about how Chuck would react when he found out she was gone. There was no help for that: when duty called, Agent Walker answered, no matter what her personal feelings. No matter how much it hurt.

Staring off into space, Sarah locked a picture of Chuck's last smile into her mind. She wasn't sure when, or if, she would get to see another one.

**Scene V – Buy More**

Lester took one last look in the men's room mirror, wetting a finger and fighting a last few stray hairs before giving himself a confident smile. "All right, Lisa. You aren't going to know what hit you." He turned around and walked away from the sink. "Time to pull out the big guns."

The door to the bathroom burst open as Lester ambled out, humming the tune to "Big Pimpin'" by Jay-Z under his breath. He strutted across the store to the beat, rubbing his thumb cockily down the side of his nose as he made his way towards computer peripherals.

Slowing for a moment to scan the store, he located Lisa at the far end of the open demo area for the games, stocking the bottom hooks on the aisle with mice and PC game controllers. Quickly cocking his head to each side and taking a deep breath, he resumed his strutting.

As he walked around a demo station, he noticed Chuck and Morgan sitting in a pair of low black gaming chairs, facing Lisa from about twenty feet away.

Changing direction, Lester strode over to confront the pair. "What are you two doing?"

Chuck extracted a few popcorn kernels from the red-and-white striped box that he had obtained from the Cineplex. "Waiting for the show, of course." Continuing to stare at Lester, he offered the box to Morgan. "Popcorn?" he asked, throwing the pieces into his mouth with his other hand.

"Don't mind if I do," Morgan answered, grabbing a handful before turning back to grin at Lester.

Knowing the guys weren't going anywhere, he decided to play it off. "This is good. Watch and learn, boys." He shook out his arms, turned his back and headed towards Lisa.

As he departed, Chuck playfully poked Morgan in the shoulder. "Shh! The show's starting!"

"Ooh! Ooh!" Morgan uttered excitedly, leaning forward in his seat to afford himself a better view as he shoved a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

Lester tried to block the pair out of his mind as he approached Lisa. Taking one last deep breath, he moved next to Lisa and leaned his left elbow against a shelf, casually crossing his right leg over his left to rest his right foot on its toe. "Hey, Lisa," he said in what he felt was a cool voice.

Lisa froze. From her kneeling position, her eyes slowly scanned up Lester, starting with the dull shine on his dress shoes, the black polyester suit pants, the short-sleeved white shirt and the gray tie. Standing up uncertainly, she pushed her black-rimmed glasses back up her nose, her eyes suddenly looking everywhere but directly at him. "Um, hi," she responded shyly, squinting to see his name tag before hastily adding, "Lester."

"I was just wondering: do you have a map?"

"Um, a map? Why?"

In a suave voice, he said, "Because I keep on getting lost in your eyes."

From behind him, Lester heard Chuck and Morgan burst into laughter. Lester briefly closed his eyes in frustration before opening them again, waiting for an answer.

Lisa was clearly uncomfortable about the conversation; she shuffled from leg to leg as she nervously replied, "Actually, I have a really cool nav system; I don't really use maps any more."

The laughter, and Lester's blood pressure, went up a notch. He forced himself to calm down, and adopted a sexier tone. "No, no, see, what I'm trying to say is … I'm like milk: I'll do your body good."

"I don't understand; I'm lactose intolerant." Lisa looked genuinely confused.

Standing there with a slight flush on his face, Lester noticed that the laughter had stopped. Glancing over, he realized that was because Chuck and Morgan were now laughing so hard that they were incapable of making any noise.

Lester said, "Excuse me," and left with as much dignity as he could muster. Lisa stared after him with a bewildered expression on her face. She shook her head and went back to stocking her goods.

As Lester walked past his audience, eyes averted, Chuck finally was able to put voice to his laughter again. Morgan had actually fallen out of his seat and started to roll around on the floor, holding his sides. Finally regaining a measure of control, he wiped tears from his eyes and said, "Oh, God, I'd pay to watch that again."

Chuck said, "Gotcha covered." He switched off the video camera on the table next to him and popped out the CD. "I captured that one for posterity." He turned to watch Lester's exit, a few stray chuckles escaping his lips.

Lester retreated to the Nerd Herd desk, collapsing into a chair. Casey wandered up and leaned on the desk; in a mock seductive tone, he said, "Hey, sexy. I really wanted to screw your brains out, but apparently somebody beat me to it."

From the demo area, Lester heard Chuck and Morgan's laughter begin all over again. Lester surrendered, dropping his head on top of his arms on the desk.

**Scene VI – Casa Bartowksi, Chuck's Room**

Chuck put the cell phone to his ear. He glanced at the clock; it was coming up on 7 pm.

"C'mon, Sarah, pick up," he muttered.

The phone rang a fourth time, then a fifth before rolling to voice mail. "Hi! You've reached Sarah Walker. I can't take your call, but leave me a message and a number and I'll get back to you A.S.A.P."

Beep.

"Hey, Sarah, Chuck again. It's around 7:00 … like my other message said, just wondering if you want to watch one of the movies I snagged from the Buy More return desk. Give me a call." He hung up, giving a large sigh. This wasn't a good sign after their conversation earlier that day.

Across town, Sarah stared down at her phone with a despondent expression, watching Chuck's image disappear from her phone's display as the call rolled to voice mail. How did he always seem to know just when to call?

"Miss?" a female voice asked.

Sarah looked up and, with a smile, she handed her boarding pass to the flight attendant. The woman scanned the pass, then returned both the paper and the smile. Sarah strode down the jetway to her waiting flight, switching off her phone as she went.

**Scene VII – Oceanic Flight 1455 to Sao Paolo**

Sarah slid the Sudoku book in the pouch mounted on the seat in front of her. She had blown through 7 of the toughest puzzles in about half an hour; the last one had taken closer to 10 minutes because she had grown bored with the game.

Chuck had gotten her hooked on the puzzles when the two of them were concluding a "date" in his room one night; lacking anything else to do, she picked up a puzzle book in his room and promptly lost track of two hours. This later led Devon to congratulate Chuck on his "awesome prowess" when he slipped into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

Opening the shade on her window, she stared out into the dark sky for a long moment. The bank of clouds below them glowed in the light of the almost-full moon. It was beautiful, but it barely registered. She shut the shade.

She never could get the hang of red-eye flights. She liked to use the time on flights to mentally prepare for a mission, but on the overnight ones, she really needed to be sleeping. Turning her head, she surveyed the empty seats around her before returning to her planning.

Putting her tray table back down, she made a note on a small piece of paper from a notepad and then went over her pre-mission checklist in her mind again. It had been a while since she had moved to a new assignment, and it didn't hurt to double-check that everything was in place. She ticked off the basics.

Weapons? Gun with spare ammo. Throwing knives. "Medical kit": what looked to be a first-aid kit but actually transported various drugs and poisons that might be necessary. That was really all she needed; she was a master at improvisation.

Cover? Passport with new identity. Portfolio with business cards, itinerary, and even some notes on the pad of paper about her supposed upcoming meetings in Sao Paolo. Suitcase appropriate for a traveling businesswoman. Outfit appropriate for traveling businesswoman: a black pantsuit with a matching black jacket, along with a form fitting gray blouse. A pair of black high heels, but like any experienced traveling businesswoman, she wore a more sensible pair of shoes on the plane. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, the golden strands pulled taut along the sides of her head.

Surveillance? Black-rimmed glasses that, when a cleverly hidden lever was actuated, doubled as short-range binoculars. MP3 player and ear buds; the MP3 player acted as a receiver for a set of three tiny bugs, and it also would magnify sounds in an adjoining room if the unit was placed up against the wall.

Sustenance? That reminded her: she took a long swig from the large bottle of water she brought with her on the plane and forced herself to eat a handful of trail mix. It was important to start the mission well-hydrated and well-fed; an agent never knew when it would be a long time before he was able to eat or drink.

As she swallowed another sip of water, an older, dark-haired gentleman wearing a beat-up suit and a similarly distressed hat slid up to her row. "Looks like you could use some company."

She smiled noncommittally, making another note on the pad. "Not really," she replied. "But you may sit if you'd like."

He accepted the lukewarm invitation, awkwardly collapsing into the seat at the end of the row. "C'mon, a beautiful woman like you shouldn't be traveling alone."

Focusing on her notebook, she said, "I've traveled alone many times, thank you."

"That may be so. I just find it hard to believe that a woman of your exquisite beauty to be unaccompanied and unattached." He nodded at her left hand, perched on the edge of her tray, her ring finger unadorned.

"You're very kind. Maybe it's because my last boyfriend took off without even a goodbye."

"Sounds like a real tool. I would never do that to you."

She turned to face the increasingly obnoxious man. "Actually, I was talking about you."

Bryce Larkin pulled off his glasses, revealing a pair of twinkling blue eyes. "Nice to see you, too."


	3. Arrivals

**Scene VIII – Oceanic Flight 1455 to Sao Paolo**

"You know, you really are getting sloppy," Bryce said, setting his glasses on the seat between them. "That cushy L.A. assignment must be taking the edge off your skills."

"Really," Sarah replied. She tore the top page from her note pad and handed it to Bryce.

With a wry smile, Bryce started reading her words aloud, "'6:32 pm: BL spotted shadowing SW at LAX, attempting to remain inconspicuous at newsstand while pretending to read a Redbook magazine.'" He chuckled.

"'6:43 pm: BL spilled part of his Jolt cola onto his ill-fitting suit, both the Jolt cola and the spill unnecessarily attracting attention.'" He turned to look at her. "'Ill-fitting'? C'mon, that's not fair; the suit is part of my cover."

Sarah kept her cocky expression. "And an old man drinking a Jolt cola?"

"What can I say; I don't get many opportunities to grab one these days."

"Please, read on."

"'7:03 pm: BL takes seat 12A, directly behind SW in seat 11A rather than taking a seat across the aisle as protocol suggests.'"

She shook her head, making little "tsk tsk" noises with her tongue.

"'8:29 pm: BL clumsily leans forward to try to observe what SL is writing on her pad.'"

"And last, but not least, '8:31 pm: BL approaches SW without using mission-specified code phrase.'"

Sarah grinned. "What would Instructor Tomlinson say about that report."

Bryce's eyes went up and left as he recalled the instructor. "Something like, 'Mr. Larkin couldn't hide from a deaf man in a pitch-black room.'" He had shifted into an overly nasal voice as he presented his exaggerated imitation of the man.

She laughed. Academy days seemed so long ago … as did the days when the two were partners. The days before Bryce disappeared and stole the Intersect. She sighed, the moment of pleasant nostalgia quickly washing away into the current reality.

"What is all this about, Bryce? You're supposed to be in deep cover; how the hell did you get me called in?"

"I need help, and you were the only logical choice."

"Why's that?"

"Several reasons. The first is that I'm still after Fulcrum, so I need somebody I could trust."

"How do you know I'm not Fulcrum?"

"If you were, you would have handed Chuck to their agent on the helipad."

She didn't bother to hide her surprise. "For somebody who's off the reservation, you're pretty well-informed."

"Graham throws me a bone from time to time, especially when it involves what I'm doing. Besides, I need a female agent with me on this one, and you're the furthest above suspicion."

"Gosh, thanks for the ringing endorsement. So, anything else?"

"What you know about Ernesto Gomes may prove useful."

"Gomes? What does he have to do with this?"

"I'll do a full briefing later. For now, all you need to know is that he has ties to the people we're going after. Also, we've worked together before, so that familiarity will come back."

He paused, scratching an itch on his ear before continuing, "Finally, insertion is going to be a bit rocky. Only a few female agents have the necessary skill profile for the task at hand."

"What in Brazil could make insertion so difficult?"

"We're not going to Brazil. We're going to Venezuela."

"Funny, I don't remember that being on my itinerary. Is there an unscheduled stop?"

"Well, not so much a stop…" He grinned mischievously.

Sarah's eyes lit up.

**Scene IX – Oceanic Flight 1455 to Sao Paolo**

The hour was late. Sarah reached up and pushed the call button, grabbing her side. It took a moment for a stewardess to respond to the page.

"Is everything all right, ma'am?"

Hunched over holding her stomach, Sarah answered, "I shouldn't have had that second helping of clam chowder before the flight."

The attendant paused briefly before answering. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was it red or white?"

"I prefer red, but they only had white." Sarah let out a soft moan.

"I think you had better come with me."

Grabbing Sarah's hand bag, the woman helped Sarah from her seat and towards the front of the plane. Once the pair entered the deserted galley, Sarah's deception was no longer necessary; she allowed her posture to return to normal.

"Follow me, please," the attendant said without preamble, handing Sarah her bag. She led Sarah down a steep ladder to a lower galley, where Bryce stood patiently waiting. He had shed his disguise; the beat-up suit had been replaced by a neatly pressed pair of black dress pants and a stylish black button-down shirt. His deliberately messy hair style and his light blue eyes really stood out against the ensemble, and he carried himself like he knew it.

He raised an eyebrow, "You ready?"

She gave an excited grin in response.

Bryce led Sarah through a concealed hatch into the bowels of the plane. Navigating through the baggage compartment, they made their way towards the tail, where another of the flight attendants waited in a small compartment with two stacks of equipment.

Sarah's heart leapt when she saw the various oxygen tanks, which meant they would be doing a high-altitude jump. She had done a low-altitude jump from a commercial airliner on a mission, but hadn't done a high-altitude jump since her training days. She rushed over and started sorting through her equipment like a kid on Christmas morning.

A high-altitude jump was tricky for a number of reasons, but most importantly because of the risk of hypoxia. Hypoxia was a form of oxygen deprivation, and if the proper procedures weren't followed, the parachutist would lose consciousness, or worse, the moment they left the plane. The jump would prove fatal.

"How long before we go?" she asked breathlessly.

"About fifty-minutes. Better get the pre-breathers ready."

To avoid hypoxia, jumpers would breathe from a tank of pure oxygen for 45 minutes to purge the nitrogen from their blood. This greatly reduced the chances of oxygen deprivation, but even one breath of regular air would result in nearly normal levels of nitrogen when they jumped. That would be very bad.

Sarah made certain that everything she needed was arranged around her immediate area so she wouldn't need to move much as she prepared. Bryce did the same and, after checking the time, nodded at her as he slipped his mask on. She slipped hers on as well.

For the next half an hour, the pair worked to prepare for the jump. Controlling their breathing in the masks, they worked their way into skin-tight polypropylene knit undergarments to protect them against the cold, and then slipped their clothes back over the top. Then they slowly dressed in their dark flight suits.

In a normal situation, they could have slipped into their full outfits inside of ten minutes. However, it took them nearly thirty minutes as they forced themselves to move slowly and carefully, not wanting to raise their heart rates or accidentally take a breath that wasn't from the pre-breathers.

After each completed a final check of their outfits, Bryce took five minutes to brief Sarah on the plan, using a map and a series of hand signals. The pair would be making a High-Altitude High-Opening, or HAHO, jump. The appointed touchdown point was nearly ten miles off the flight path, so they would need to direct their descent. The darkness of the night would provide adequate cover for their drop; they would use backlit GPS devices mounted on the front of their harnesses to help guide them to their appointed landing zone.

They had a pair of radio transmitters mounted into their masks, but Sarah knew conversation needed to be kept to a minimum, with radio silence being ideal. The entire point of entering the country this way was to be absolutely certain that their arrival was undetected, and any radio transmission would constitute an unnecessary risk.

The pair fastened the oxygen tanks and parachutes onto their bodies as the jump point approached. After checking that the oxygen tanks were functioning properly, they made the switch to the masks of the tanks on their backs, discarding the nearly spent pre-breather tanks onto the floor. Bryce managed to shoot Sarah a knowing grin as he switched masks; suddenly, their time as partners didn't seem so long ago. Sarah returned the smile, taking care to avoid an unwanted breath, before slipping her mask over her face.

The flight attendant changed an indicator mounted on the roof of the cabin from red to yellow, indicating that their drop point was a minute away. Both made one final check of their equipment; in her excitement, Sarah had nearly forgotten a small pack that now contained some of the key contents of her hand bag, along with Chuck's necklace. She quickly strapped it around her waist.

Lining up next to Bryce, Sarah grinned. This was what she loved about her job. That morning, she had been jogging through a park in central L.A. Tonight, she was parachuting through the darkness onto another continent.

The yellow light started blinking. A quiet alarm sounded as a gate dropped from the back of the compartment, opening up into the dark night sky. Wind whipped around the chamber as the stewardess, strapped to the side of the compartment in her own harness, started counting down from five with her left hand.

Sarah's heart rate cranked up a level in anticipation.

As the light turned green, the ever-cocky Bryce turned around and winked as he walked down the tail gate … backwards … and vanished into the night.

She shook her head, amused despite herself. He had that effect on her.

With a few quick steps, Sarah slipped out of the back of the airliner into empty space, keeping her body ramrod straight until she dropped a safe distance from the plane. She opened her arms, and a tremendous wave of air yanked her backwards, leaving her to plummet downwards towards the scattered lights far, far below.

As she steadied her body in a horizontal position for the first part of her descent, she let out a joyful scream that was muffled by her oxygen mask. It was good to be truly back in the field.

**Scene X – Buy More**

The Buy More was in its typical morning lull. Jeff and Lester were out on service calls, so Chuck had the Nerd Herd desk to himself … which had its pros and cons.

The pros were pretty obvious; getting the desk to himself meant he could actually get some work done. A big con was that he was the only Nerd Herder at the desk, so he needed to handle all the customer service.

For example, Chuck would have gladly handed off the irritated customer that was currently giving him an earful about his malfunctioning laptop. "How freakin' difficult is it to get a piece of spy ware off a laptop?"

Chuck had worked on the man's computer himself the previous day, so he didn't even need to check the records. "Actually, sir, we've found 73 distinct types of spy ware on your laptop, including 57 installed by sites that aren't exactly the Yahoo's and CNN's of the world … if you get my drift."

The man's face flushed, quickly becoming as red as the untucked flannel shirt he sported. "That's bogus. I never visit those kind of sites."

"Well, your browser history says differently. Do you have any kids?"

Eyes darting side-to-side, the man responded, "Yes. Yes, I do."

Chuck was no expert at sussing out falsehoods, but this man was about the most obvious liar he had ever met. Still, he knew it would do no good to call him out. "Well, then, I suggest you have a little chat with them."

"I'll do that. When can I have my laptop back?"

"Probably tomorrow, sir."

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

As the customer left, Casey walked up and curtly motioned for Chuck to join him outside of the desk. The store was empty enough that they could risk a private conversation in the middle of the store.

"Now, Bartowski, I have something to tell you, and I don't want you getting all weepy on me."

"Yeah, I heard about Charlton Heston. You doing OK?" Chuck was entirely serious about the question: he liked yanking Casey's chain as much as the next guy, but he knew just how much Heston and the NRA meant to Casey.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. But that's not what I'm talking about." He took a deep breath, as if he knew Chuck wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Agent Walker left yesterday on another mission."

The concerned expression fled from Chuck's face, along with the color. "Wha-a? Where did she go?"

"I couldn't tell you even if I knew. And before you ask: no, she didn't tell me when, or if, she is coming back. We're both pretty much in the dark on this one."

Chuck had often considered that he might be taken away from Sarah. The near-extraction caused by the Fulcrum agent who infiltrated the Buy More had highlighted that possibility. But he had never thought that Sarah might be the one to be called away.

His mind slowed as he tried to process what Casey had told him. _Sarah is gone._ He repeated it over and over, trying to get his head around it. _She's gone, and she might not be coming back._ It still hadn't fully registered, but it was becoming more real. He took a deep breath.

He expected sadness to overtake him, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt … betrayed … by her departure. What had happened to the trust the two supposedly shared? The two may never have really made it past friendship, but he liked to think that they had grown close enough to warrant a phone call. She called Casey, but not him?

He was also confused: he was under the impression that the Intersect was the CIA's top priority. That obviously wasn't the case. What did that mean? Did something change?

There was a lot to think about.

Casey, in his typically gentle manner, snapped Chuck from his reverie by smacking him on the side of his head.

"Ouch…" Chuck said, rubbing the spot as he shot a reproachful look at Casey.

"Get your head on straight, Bartowski; you can mope about this later. All I know is that they're assigning a substitute agent, so they must expect her to be gone for at least a few days."

Still rubbing his head, Chuck asked, "So, who are they sending? Agent Norris? Agent Phillips?"

Casey grimaced. "No, they're sending…"

A perky female voice said, "Hi, Chuck!" Casey's grimace grew more pronounced.

Chuck instantly recognized the voice; he slowly pivoted. Sure enough, there stood Carina, her bright blue eyes and luminescent smile trained on him from the frame of her shoulder-length, copper-colored hair. Per usual, she wore a figure-hugging outfit: in this case, a short black skirt with a tight, light-blue top that highlighted her curves and her eyes. She held onto the strap of her large black purse with her right hand. Her nose, lightly dusted with freckles, wrinkled cutely as she smiled at him.

As usual, she was strikingly beautiful, but Chuck knew just how dangerous she could be … in many different respects.

Trying to keep his voice from cracking, Chuck offered, "Hey, Carina! I didn't know you were coming back to town."

She slowly walked towards the pair, eyeing Chuck up and down. "Looking good, Bartowski. I do love a man in uniform."

Chuck flushed; he had little frame of reference for dealing with a woman as brazen as Carina.

She turned to examine Casey in a similar manner. "And out of uniform as well."

Casey said, "Ah, Carina. I was getting a little too comfortable with the well-planned missions that didn't require any unnecessary risks."

"Right, because capturing Ernesto Gomes went strictly by the book, and you didn't take any risks allowing your team to be captured by Andon Minh."

His jaw dropped. "How did you…"

"Oh, please, that information was easy to obtain. Agents gossip worse than sorority girls."

"Well, I suppose that's better than dressing like one."

"You have your weapons, Casey, I have mine," she said, batting her eyelashes at both men for emphasis.

During their banter, Chuck couldn't help but notice that Carina didn't mention the Fulcrum incursion into the Buy More or their encounter with the Russian mafia. Either there was a lag associated with her snooping, or there were thankfully still a few secrets kept in the intelligence community.

Carina apparently had grown bored with the sparring. "Enough chit-chat; what am I doing here? One minute I'm on the bench, about to take some R&R down in the Keys, and the next I'm aboard a commercial flight to L.A. to pinch-hit for Sarah. What gives?"

Chuck looked to Casey; given that he just found out about all of this, he had no clue what the plan was.

"Briefing tonight: 6 pm, my place. Get settled; we'll see you there."

Casey headed towards the back of the store without another word. Carina followed him with her eyes as he left. "You know, I think I make him nervous for some reason." She looked back to Chuck with an impish grin. "Think he wore the cloverleaves today?"

Chuck did his best to control his emotions, forcing his laugh to turn into a cough before contriving an answer. He stammered, "No, I think … I mean I'm pretty sure he … You know, there's really no good way to answer that question."

Carina just laughed. "I missed you, Chuck. You're the least like an agent of anyone I've ever worked with."

"Thanks, I think," he said dryly.

"So, how are things? Or should I say, how are things between you and Sarah? Did she ever come clean about her feelings?"

"Not in so many words, no." It was as safe an answer as he could conjure under the circumstances, and it technically was the truth.

"Too bad; I was rooting for you crazy kids. You, um, need any comforting?" The look she gave him could have melted stone.

Chuck felt himself blushing under her gaze; again, he had no idea how to respond. Thankfully, he was saved by his friend.

"Carina? Is that you?" Morgan asked in disbelief.

Surprised for a moment that somebody else would know her name, she turned around to confront the speaker. She had to look at him for a long moment to place his face. "Martin?!" she asked.

"Morgan. It's, um, Morgan." Apparently Morgan had developed enough of a spine to finally correct Carina about his name.

"Of course; I was just teasing. It is so good to see you!" Closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around him in a tremendous hug.

Morgan awkwardly placed his hands just above her hips; he clearly had no idea what to do. He was a man torn between succumbing to her embrace and running away as fast as his legs would carry him. He finally settled on nervously pushing away from her. "It's … good to see you, too. What are you doing here?"

Carina looked at Chuck with a mischievous twinkle in her eye; Chuck shook his head and mouthed the word, "No."

It was no great surprise that she ignored Chuck's plea. Playing with the buttons on Morgan's polo, she said, "Well, I finally feel like I got over my previous relationship, and I was hoping we could give things another try." The seductive gaze that had been directed at Chuck a moment earlier was now firmly focused on Morgan.

Morgan started to protest, "Well, actually…" Suddenly, he was very distracted by the fingertips running gently through his hair. Awkwardly pulling her hand away, Morgan continued, "…actually I'm seeing somebody. Seriously. Very seriously."

Carina shrugged, reaching out to play with his beard. "Dump her."

"I'm sorry?!"

"Dump her. You know I'm the one you want." She started to stroke his hair again. Morgan's eyelids grew heavy at her touch; his mouth grew slack.

Chuck had to do something to help his friend. "Say, Morgan, wasn't Big Mike looking for you? You know, asking when Anna would be coming back?" He strongly emphasized the word 'Anna'.

Morgan's eyes shot open at Anna's name. "Anna. Yes. Yes, he was. Thanks, man."

Carina pouted as Morgan pulled his head away; he held out both hands to ensure she wouldn't re-establish contact. With a paranoid and slightly frightened expression, he backed away from Carina. "Great to see you again, Carina. Really." Morgan fled, looking back once as if to make sure she wasn't following him.

Carina looked out of the corner of her eye at Chuck. "Spoil sport."

"Look, he's got a girlfriend."

She slowly started stepping towards him. "But you don't, Chuck. I'm betting you've given Sarah her chances. Why not have a little fun?"

The words struck closer to home than Chuck cared to admit. He had given Sarah a number of chances; could he really expect this time to be any different? She hadn't exactly jumped at his suggestion yesterday, a fact now emphasized by the way she slipped out of town without a word.

Was she even coming back?

Suddenly, Carina was standing very, very close to him. Her lightly spicy perfume filled his nose. "I don't bite. You know, unless you're into that kind of thing."

Her eyes bored into his. Trying to find a safe place to look, Chuck glanced down. His eyes wandered across her blouse; he found himself wondering how the soft fabric would feel on his fingertips and how her hips would feel under his hands.

Looking down was definitely a mistake.

A severely overweight woman in a flowered shirt rang the bell at the desk. "Who does a woman need to sleep with to get some service around here?" she demanded to nobody in particular.

At the comment, Chuck jerked his eyes upwards. Carina raised a suggestive eyebrow. "I was here first."

He swallowed hard. "So, 6 pm at Casey's?"

She directed a knowing smile at him. "Until then." She headed for the exit in the slow, deliberate strut of a woman who knew she was being watched by a man.

Chuck tore his eyes away and headed over to help the customer.

**Scene XI – Buy More, Exterior**

Carina strolled out of the Buy More, a smug little smile on her face.

At first, she had been dismayed to be drawn back into the boring little cover world that Sarah and Casey had conjured. She preferred action, and while she wasn't sure what the opposite of action was, she was pretty sure this assignment would come close.

However, she realized this assignment had its perks. There were so many opportunities for amusement; it beat picking up some stray guy on a Florida beach and discarding him a few days later. This was almost better than a vacation.

Mostly, though, she was still trying to figure out what Chuck's role was. He was a bright enough guy, but he was no spy. Why were two top agents, one from the CIA and one from the NSA, lurking around this guy? Agencies didn't cooperate very often, and when they did, they had good reason. But there was no reason here that she could see.

It didn't make any sense.

Carina prided herself on being able to dig up information on whatever interested her. Usually, it was just a question of seducing the right analyst to get him, or even her, talking. But despite her best efforts, she had been unable to dig up any information at all on Chuck, and that intrigued her.

Besides, Chuck had turned her down, and multiple times at that. Even Casey couldn't resist her charms a second time, and that was after she had blindsided him once, in Prague. Chuck was about the only agent who had ever resisted her advances, and it certainly wasn't for lack of trying on her part.

There was definitely more than curiosity at stake here. There was a bit of pride, and she had to admit that she was more than a little turned on by his repeated refusals. It had been a while since she had a real challenge.

A definite added bonus was that she was sure it would drive Sarah nuts if she seduced Chuck. And with Sarah away, she was confident she would find a way to make that happen.


	4. Arrangements for Date Night

**Scene XII – Venezuelan Cloud Forest**

Sarah was tearing through a cloud forest in a high mountain valley on a specially designed ATV. The wind rushed across her ears, her protective goggles allowing her to take in the bright green foliage that whizzed by in a blur, obscured further by the late morning fog.

Spotting a puddle left over from an earlier rain shower, Sarah subtly altered her course. Unsure of the depth, she only dipped the outside of her tires as she passed, but it was more than enough to throw a spray of muddy water high into the air behind her. She risked a quick glance behind; sure enough, Bryce was following just close enough behind to intercept the arc of dirty water on his goggles and coveralls. He gave a wicked laugh, "Oh, you'll pay for that one, Walker."

She echoed his laugh. "Not likely!" She turned the throttle with her right hand, kicking the bike into high gear.

The pair had parachuted through the darkness to the appointed landing zone without incident. After the initial exhilaration, it gradually became peaceful, tranquil and beautiful.

Right after leaving the plane, they were high enough that Sarah could pick out some of South America's larger cities in the distance: she easily picked out Caracas and Bogotá, among a number of others. She could also pick out the Greater Andes mountain range by the distinct absence of lights shining from the higher elevations; this was useful, as the pair was heading for a mountain valley along the range.

The two had easily made the necessary horizontal distance to the drop point, so much so that the last fifteen minutes was basically a vertical descent. The dearth of lights below made it clear that they were descending towards one of the remote areas of the valley, so much so that a set of three oil lanterns provided an easily spotted landing beacon in an open field.

Bryce had another surprise waiting when they landed: outside the quiet rural farmstead where they landed, a young boy waited near a rough-hewn table containing a loaf of bread and a bowl with a variety of local fruits, cut into slices. Sarah gladly kept the remains of her trail mix stashed for later and specifically dug into the mangos and papayas, wondering a bit at the special treatment. She savored every last bite of the succulent fruit; they were in season this time of year, and she had been unsuccessful in her efforts to find these fruits in similar quality in L.A.

The two quickly rolled up their parachutes and lugged their equipment over to a small ramshackle barn. They stowed it in a carefully hidden cellar before re-covering the trap door with hay.

The pair rested for a while; Sarah managed to grab a couple hours of sleep in the barn, a musty but warm blanket shielding her from the cool morning air. The mountains shielded the valley from the sun for a couple of hours after sunrise, with the ambient light from the bright blue sky providing the only illumination. After she awoke, the two spent a little time examining the farm and the unfamiliar foliage of the surrounding woods, discussing the geography they would be navigating later that day. When the sun was high enough to crest the high peaks to the east, Bryce slipped a handful of American dollars to the boy and indicated it was time to move on.

Guiding her back to the barn, Bryce lifted a pair of blankets in a pair of old horse stalls, revealing ATVs. Again, she wondered at the decision: they could have just as easily taken a car into town along the main road. In fact, it might have attracted less attention.

But it certainly wouldn't have been as much fun.

Every step of the mission so far had seemed to include something a little out-of-the ordinary, something that Bryce would know that she enjoyed. Remembering parts of their conversation the previous night, she realized that this wasn't about a single mission: she was once again being recruited by Bryce to join his fight against Fulcrum.

She wondered how she felt about that – on a couple of levels.

Later, under the warm Venezuelan sun, such things were far from her mind. After the ride through the countryside, the pair had stopped at the small village of La Caña about a dozen miles outside of Merida. American tourists off on their own were rare, but not unheard of, up this particular valley. Speaking with the villagers in their native tongue, they were able to purchase enough fresh food from the market to put together a more proper breakfast.

Sitting in the square around the town well during their repast, Bryce had filled her in on their mission. Fulcrum was active in Venezuela, and they were to find out why.

Bryce had been shadowing a suspected Fulcrum agent named Alex Moreno, a former member of the FBI. Before his departure, Moreno had been quickly rising through the ranks and was viewed as one of the FBI's most promising agents. However, his differences of opinions with his superiors had begun to affect his work, and he was subsequently discharged. After his discharge, he made his way to Venezuela, where he had attracted the attention of a CIA agent in Caracas.

Interestingly, Ernesto Gomes, erstwhile Venezuelan agent and now CIA prisoner, had further piqued the CIA's curiosity. During his incarceration, Gomes refused to crack under interrogation, but he had muttered, "Fulcrum" twice along with several other names as he slept one night. This was too much of a coincidence given what Bryce had discovered, so Graham had passed along the findings to Bryce.

One of Bryce's contacts tipped him off that Moreno had a reservation for two at a high-end restaurant in Merida that night. The pair would pick up surveillance there; if they were really lucky, the dinner partner would help shed some light on what Moreno was doing. A lone man at having dinner at such a restaurant would likely attract Moreno's attention, but a young couple on a date would be far better cover.

Bryce was running into that type of problem a great deal in his surveillance efforts, which is why he needed a female agent with him. Another male agent would work for a restaurant cover, but other circumstances, such as parties and tailing operations, were much easier to manage with a female partner.

After discarding the remains of their brunch, the two mounted their ATVs and headed back into the countryside away from the main road, needing to cover a few more miles into the outskirts of Merida. They would drop the ATVs off at a rendezvous point, and take a bus the rest of the way into town so the two could get prepared for that night. They alternately crossed open farmland and forests as they descended through the valley.

Sarah flashed back to the present as Bryce tried to slip past her on a wide section of the path. "Oh, no you don't," she crowed in a competitive tone. She slid her bike over to the left, cutting off his pass and forcing him back behind her as the path narrowed once more. His smile was electric as he bided his time, waiting for the next opportunity.

She had to admit: she was having a really good time.

**Scene XIII – Buy More**

A steaming Lester stormed out of the break room, the fish bowl under his arm. Somebody had posted an informal list on the white board, with the variety of handwritings suggesting a number of contributors.

The list was titled, "Things Smoother than Lester", and contained the following items:

- Sandpaper (40-grit)

- Cafeteria oatmeal

- Jeff's movements - after not drinking for three days.

- A handful of thumb tacks.

- The dialogue in "Star Wars, Episode II"

He was pretty sure the last one was in Chuck's handwriting. It stung the most.

Apparently, the debacle with Lisa was common knowledge throughout the Buy More, thanks to a certain video circulating among the green shirts. Conversations quieted wherever he went in the store as the other employees tried to hide their grins. Even Big Mike chuckled openly and derisively as the two passed each other earlier that day.

There was only one thing for it: the store needed a new punching bag, and he had stacked the deck to ensure it happened. Since Chuck and Morgan were unavailable, every slip of paper in the fish bowl now had Jeff's name.

Dutifully, the store employees had gathered around the Nerd Herd desk at the appointed time. Unlike yesterday, everyone was smiling and doing little to conceal their amusement as Lester approached.

Lester said, "OK, OK, get it all out of your systems."

Morgan shook his head. "Oh, no, Lester. This is the type of thing to be savored."

Chuck added, "For weeks."

The crowd gave a nearly unified chuckle. Lester flushed.

"Well, let's see how the next victim makes out. And that victim is…" Lester shuffled the pieces of paper in the bowl around, grabbing a slip at random. "…Jeff!"

At the sound of his name, Jeff snapped out of his daze behind the desk. He looked around the store as if needing to re-orient himself. With a vacant, wide-eyed expression, he started walking over towards computer peripherals.

Lester didn't notice. Hitching up his pants slightly, he said, "Now, Jeff, I don't want you to feel bad if things don't work out well for you. She's a tough nut to crack, as I found out the hard way." He decided that it would be an appropriate time to make eye contact with Jeff and assess his level of fear. Looking around, he finally noticed Jeff wasn't there.

He looked at Chuck questioningly. With an expression that basically said, "Who knew?" Chuck pointed over towards where Jeff had gone.

Jeff was walking up to Lisa. He awkwardly said, "Hey."

Lisa froze. Standing up uncertainly, she pushed her black-rimmed glasses back up her nose, her eyes suddenly looking everywhere but directly at Jeff. "Um, hi," she responded shyly, squinting to see his name tag before hastily adding, "Jeff."

"Wanna grab a beer later?"

"Oh," she said, looking a little disappointed. "Only one?"

Jeff's eyes lit up. "Did I say 'a beer'? I meant 'a pitcher'."

"OK," she said, grinning nervously. "But only if I can buy the second one. I prefer to go Dutch."

He grinned. "8 pm?" Jeff asked.

"Sounds good."

He walked away with a happy expression on his face, not really believing what just happened. As he reached the center aisle, he heard her say, "Ah, beer. The reason I get up every afternoon."

His grin grew even wider.

**Scene XIV – Casa Bartowski, Chuck's Room**

Chuck lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. A female voice crooned a song in French, his latest find off of Pandora: _Je Reviens_, by Autour de Lucie. Not speaking French, he had no idea what any of the lyrics meant, but he liked that the singer sounded sad but hopeful. He closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, he pretended it was Sarah singing to him.

He wondered if she could speak French or sing. Knowing Sarah, the answer to both was 'yes'.

If this were a normal night, he might have considered another binge of rum-and-Cokes and a night filled with whatever first-person shooter game had the destructive firepower he craved. Sarah's unannounced departure had left him feeling empty and reckless; at the moment, he didn't really care what he did, or what the consequences might be.

Forcing himself to sit up, he checked the clock on his nightstand. 5:40 pm, the bright red digital numbers informed him. Casey had asked him to come over about fifteen minutes early so they could discuss their plans for handling Carina. Chuck gave a derisive snort. As if anyone could handle Carina.

He thought back to Carina's not-so-subtle hints in the store earlier. Sure, he had watched her shamelessly flirt with both Morgan and Casey, and had even seen her string along both Morgan and Casey at different times. However, there seemed to be a subtle difference in the way she pursued him. He wasn't exactly sure what Carina's game was, but he wasn't sure he cared, either.

He wondered what he would do if she gave him another opportunity.

**Scene XV – Casey's Apartment**

Casey stood facing the communications array from just in front of the couch. The main screen currently held only the sour countenance of General Beckman, decked out in her usual uniform. With no CIA personnel involved, Director Graham had apparently taken a pass on the briefing.

Even the stupid little things reminded Chuck that Sarah wasn't there.

Casey wore Chuck's Christmas present to him: a brown T-shirt with white lettering that read, "Smith & Wesson: The Original Point-and-Click Interface". The saying was a perfect link between the two: guns and technology wrapped into one.

The saying also fit Casey's mood. The news of Heston's passing obviously bothered Casey very badly; the shirt was a small clue, but he had also placed a smaller picture of a smiling Heston in a place of honor next to his picture of Reagan. Chuck almost expected to find a votive candle burning in front of the picture in homage to Heston's life.

Chuck had wandered over wearing a long-sleeved plain gray T-shirt with a pair of patterned blue jeans, his hair as unruly as ever. His mood hadn't improved; he quietly sulked in the middle of the couch, just below the view of the general. It was a quiet, if immature, form of protest about the way he found out about Sarah's departure.

Casey obviously didn't approve; he again tried to get Chuck to stand, silently indicating how he felt about the lack of respect Chuck was showing the general. Chuck didn't particularly care.

The three had a few minutes before Carina was supposed to arrive, which gave Casey a chance to put a voice to his displeasure.

"Carina was the best substitute agent? Really?"

"Is there a problem, Agent Casey?"

"Yes, there's a problem. She's useless on a subtle mission like protecting a cover."

"Chuck's role as an analyst was already established with her. The fewer people in the DoD that Chuck comes in contact with, the easier it is to keep him hidden from Fulcrum agents. Besides, she was on the bench and available."

Casey was looking for a flaw in the argument, but given their recent problems with Fulcrum, he couldn't debate the sense that made. "But what are we supposed to tell her? We don't have any active missions, and she's not going to believe that she was sent out here for no reason."

"We've thought of that, Agent Casey. You're to tell her that NSA agents are conducting surveillance on a drug operation; I just sent you some intel along with a dummy mission." Sure enough, the printer kicked into high gear. "Should the opportunity present itself, the three of you will coordinate the strike team to bring down the operation. Of course, that opportunity will not present itself."

Chuck interjected, "But, that story would only work for a few days. Does that mean that…?"

"Yes, Agent Walker will return within the week. She is being offered the opportunity to permanently switch to her current assignment. When she returns, she will either return to her former post, or she will spend a couple of days debriefing her replacement before permanently assuming her new post. Either way, Carina will return to her duties at that time."

Chuck's face tightened. Maybe that explained why Sarah didn't say goodbye, and why she didn't say anything about his offer to date for real. Maybe she had already decided that she was leaving.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"That would be Carina," Casey said.

"Report in tomorrow at 1200," the general said. "Let me know how Carina reacts to the assignment." She signed off.

"Come in," Casey shouted to the door, walking around the other side of the coffee table.

Carina walked in, looking ready for a night at a dance club. She wore a skin-tight black dress and a matching pair of black high heels, and she carried a small black clutch-purse. Chuck tried hard not to stare; she was stunning.

"Isn't that a bit much for a mission briefing?" Casey asked.

"Depends on the mission," Carina coolly answered.

He motioned for her to take a seat on the couch. Chuck slid over to one end. Carina decided to take her half from the middle, sitting just a little too close to Chuck.

Casey read from the script provided by General Beckman. "CIA operatives have been observing the operations of an informal Central American drug cartel called 'El Mano Verde'. You were brought in to help in case a breakthrough happens while Agent Walker is unavailable."

Carina scoffed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Is there a problem?"

"Don't try to tell me I was called out here in case you need help with an amateur group of marijuana smugglers? These guys measure their annual imports in pounds, not tons."

"Well, we're close to nailing them…"

Carina threw her hands in the air. "Who cares? I mean, I'm ecstatic that the CIA and NSA are finally getting off their collective asses and pitching in on the war on drugs, but 'The Green Hand'?" Students at Berkeley keep more weed in their dorm rooms than these guys bring into the country in a month. They're strictly amateurs, and marijuana isn't that bad a drug when compared to some of the other things out there."

"Orders are orders," he said with a falsely sweet smile.

Carina rolled her eyes. "Well, the DEA figured out who these two guys were about a year ago, but they are so small-time that it wasn't even worth bringing them in. But by all means, if your surveillance team cracks the case, give me a call. I'll grab Peter Marin, you'll grab Tommy Trombley, and we'll all grab a bite to eat to celebrate the 'major' bust." She stood up. "C'mon, Chuck, we're leaving."

Chuck looked back and forth between the two agents. "Wait … what?"

"Well, I'm not going to sit around while some NSA novices cut their teeth on a third-rate drug ring. We're going out."

Chuck stood up.

"No, he's not," Casey disagreed.

Chuck instinctively sat back down. When he realized what he had done, he closed his eyes in disgust.

"Who are you, his chaperone?"

Chuck cocked his head to the side, his dubious expression indicating that Carina wasn't that far from the truth.

"Neither one of you is going out," Casey re-affirmed. "We all need to stay close in case the call comes."

"So, we won't go far. There have to be some decent restaurants around here."

"We'll order in," he insisted firmly.

A frustrated little expression on her face, Carina turned around to face Chuck, pulling him off the couch by one hand. In a voice low enough that Casey wouldn't hear, she said, "Why don't you go over to your place and fix yourself up a bit. Throw on a nicer shirt. Be waiting by the fountain in fifteen minutes, and we'll go out."

Chuck looked uncertainly at Casey.

"Go on, Chuck," she said gently but firmly.

Still looking warily at Casey, Chuck walked to the door and exited the apartment.

Carina turned back around to face Casey. "So," she said in a voice that would make most men melt. "What should we talk about?"

Casey looked back at her sternly. "How about your complete lack of respect for authority?"

She took long, slow steps towards Casey. "I was thinking of something a bit more … personal."

He steeled himself, obviously expected her to walk over to him. Instead, she walked over to his picture of Charlton Heston, running a gentle finger along the frame. "Rough couple of days, huh?"

Casey's face softened a bit. "A little," he answered.

She looked at him sympathetically.

Fifteen minutes after he left Casey's apartment, Chuck waited for Carina by the fountain. He had slipped a nice black button-down shirt with thin white pin-stripes over his gray T-shirt after spending a few minutes trying to tame his hair.

As he sat in the courtyard, he wondered about Sarah. She was always about the mission first; he knew that far too well. Anything that Beckman and Graham would allow her leave guarding the Intersect had to be very high priority in their eyes.

That wasn't a combination that would end well for him. If Sarah was being offered a higher priority mission, he had little doubt that she would take it.

She was probably gone. _Just like so many other times, she couldn't be bothered to deal with me directly. Some trust we shared._ He felt slightly nauseous.

He ran a finger along the watch she had given him for Christmas. Part of the cover, she had said. He had liked to see the watch as a symbol of her trust in him, much like the necklace had become a symbol of his trust in her, but maybe he was just fooling himself. She had really only offered him her trust the one time, but she had demanded his from almost the moment they met.

Maybe Carina had a point. Maybe he had done everything he could with Sarah, and in the end, once again it was him that was getting hurt. With Sarah, with Jill … he always ended up getting hurt.

In some ways, Carina's offer was the most honest of all. He knew exactly what he would be getting from her.

He took off the watch and slipped it into his pocket.

Carina exited Casey's apartment, carrying her purse. "You ready?" she asked in a friendly tone.

Chuck wasn't really sure, but he nodded anyway as he stood up. Carina offered him her arm; being the gentleman, Chuck took it and escorted her out of the courtyard. He idly wondered how Carina had convinced Casey to let the two go out.

Inside Casey's apartment, Casey lay on his bed in his T-shirt and plain light-blue boxer shorts, his hands cuffed to his headboard and a sock in his mouth. His face was a mixture of frustration and anger as he tugged futilely at the handcuffs.


	5. Appetizers

**Scene XVI – Merida, Restaurante **

Sarah and Bryce sat at an intimate table for two in a high-end restaurant. Little known to outsiders, the dimly lit restaurant serviced the upper crust of the university community, a series of tiered levels affording each table a spectacular view out the large picture windows that were as great an attraction as the food.

Their table was pushed up against a window overlooking the high-class neighborhood of Belensate. The southwest-facing window provided a stunning view of the plains below the city, the disappearing sun streaking highlights across the lower townships and open spaces. Sarah's more southerly view afforded her a beautiful view of the Pico Bolivar, along with the cable car network that allowed tourists and locals alike to ascend nearly to the top of the peak.

The room was filled with the murmur of conversations in Spanish; Sarah was struggling a bit to re-attune herself to the fast-paced style of conversation prevalent in South America, but she was getting back there quickly enough. In another day or two, she would start to think in Spanish instead of needing to translate everything she heard and everything she wanted to say.

A black sports coat complemented the dress pants and shirt Bryce had worn on the plane, although both had to be re-pressed after their recent adventures. He had shaved for the occasion; the smooth skin lent a boyish charm to his impish grin.

Sarah wore a black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps. The multipurpose little black dress was one of Sarah's staples on any mission; it took up little space and could easily pass muster in a variety of situations. Some beautiful costume jewelry, a diamond-studded bracelet that paired nicely with her earrings and matching necklace, finished off her ensemble nicely. Lacking the time to wash and dry her hair, she had settled on pulling her hair back into a more elegant version of the bun she had worn on the plane.

Even though Bryce and Sarah were there for neither the food nor the view, she couldn't help but be impressed by both. She had to admit she missed part of the international spy gig; she loved to travel and to eat the food of other cultures, and her assignment to guard Chuck definitely hindered the latter and all but killed the former.

Still, there was plenty to be said about the meals with Chuck, Ellie and their other friends. There was something far more comforting about those meals than could be found in any restaurant. And there was certainly something to be said for quiet evenings spent with people who cared about you – and you cared about.

"Penny?" Bryce asked.

Sarah shook herself from her musings at the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry?"

His smile grew. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She stirred her drink, club soda with a lime, to give her a moment to collect her thoughts. "Just re-adjusting to life on the road, I guess."

"It does have its perks." He nodded at the view to emphasize his point.

"That is does." The view was truly breath-taking.

Sarah allowed herself a long moment to stare before casually examining the restaurant for their suspects. All in all, she would have preferred a seat away from the window for their mission; too many people would want to look in their direction because of the view, which made it tough to keep an eye on the room. However, they were lucky to get a table at all from a last-minute cancellation; it just happened to be for the best table in the room.

That's what Bryce had told her, anyway. Given everything else he had arranged, Sarah had to wonder a little bit. His next comments helped to confirm her thoughts.

"Relax," he said quietly. "They're not here yet. Their reservation isn't for another 30 minutes." He took a sip of Coke with a lime, the mock cuba libre being his standard choice for drinking while on a mission.

"Then why are we here so early?"

He smiled congenially. "Establishing our cover. Taking a little time to decompress. Rediscovering the chemistry we once had." His smile took on the slightest hint of innuendo for his last sentence.

"Are you talking chemistry between partners, or something else?"

"Why not both?"

"Well, aside from the fact that you didn't trust me as your partner…"

"Hey, those were extreme circumstances."

"Because we never encountered extreme circumstances in any of our other … endeavors." She had to choose her words carefully; too many people in the room might speak English, and a poorly chosen word could blow their cover.

Bryce, always a bit more reckless, chose to lean forward so he could talk in a lower tone rather than dodge any incriminating words. "I've already apologized twice for not trusting you. C'mon, it's not like you ever completely trusted me, either."

"The difference is that apparently I had good instincts."

Bryce sat more upright, holding his hands out to the sides in a gesture of peace. "Look, I don't want to spend a lot of time rehashing past wrongs. I need help with what I'm doing, Sarah. This is important."

"So is what I'm doing, Bryce. I'm protecting the thing you felt so strongly about that you felt the need to go off on your own, the thing that nearly got you killed. Not to mention that I'm protecting the guy who used to be your best friend."

Bryce winced at the last part. "How is Chuck?"

Sarah hesitated at the question. "He's … adjusting. It's a lot to ask of a guy."

"Chuck can handle it."

"Well, that's what you thought when you got him kicked out of school."

"That wasn't supposed to happen. I was just trying to invalidate the test results to protect him from the CIA, not get him expelled."

"I know. I saw a recording of you talking to the professor."

"Did Chuck see it, too?"

Sarah nodded. She could almost see the gears turning in Bryce's head.

"Was this before I showed up at Thanksgiving?"

Again, she nodded. Again, the gears turned.

"I don't get it, then. If he knows I was just trying to protect him, why was he so hostile towards me?"

She averted her eyes, revolving her stirrer around her drink. "We never really talked about it."

Bryce's eyes narrowed. "But why do I think you have a theory?"

She laughed, looking at him once again. "Because I always have a theory. You know that."

He smiled contentedly at her laugh, pausing to take a sip from his glass and lean all the way back in his chair. "So let's hear your theory."

"Well, twice, you made decisions for Chuck that drastically changed his life. He's not the most assertive guy…"

Bryce chuckled. "You obviously never knew him at Stanford."

"…but I have to imagine that rankled. The first time, you got him kicked out of Stanford to protect him from the CIA. He lost everything except for Ellie and Morgan ... including his best friend." Bryce winced again, although this one wasn't as pronounced.

Sarah continued, "Then, after disappearing from his life for five years, you send him an email that drags him waist-deep into the world you tried to protect him from without a word of explanation. He didn't have any way to keep his family and friends safe, except to volunteer to go live in an underground bunker somewhere for the rest of his life. I know that would tick me off. Chuck actually took it much better than most people would have."

Her mouth was fairly dry after her little speech; she took a long sip of club soda to wet her throat, watching Bryce's face carefully. It was a rare occasion when Bryce Larkin was speechless; he seemed lost in thought.

She was surprised how passionately she had advocated for Chuck, and just as surprised how much she had come to understand him. Bryce's query had unlocked flood of insight she didn't really know she had.

Somewhat guiltily, she realized how little she had thought about Chuck since boarding the plane. She wondered about how he must have taken her departure, especially knowing how good Casey was at "gently" breaking news to people. Her only hope was that Chuck would understand that she had her orders, and that his trust in her would be enough. Orders were orders.

Unconsciously, she reached for Chuck's necklace, feeling an irrational sense of panic when her fingers were unable to locate the gilded pendant. Only then did she remember that the necklace was safely stowed in her bag back in their room.

Once again, Bryce's voice awakened her from her thoughts. "I guess I never thought of it like that."

Sarah was baffled._ How could you be Chuck's best friend and not know how he would react?_ It was clear Bryce had hardly given the matter any thought; she was stunned by the very notion. Instantly, there was so much more Sarah wanted to say, so much that could be said. She bit back her anger.

Taking a breath, she recognized that lashing out at Bryce wouldn't do any good. Sarah was an expert at controlling her feelings; she managed to suppress most of her emotion. One last accusing comment managed to escape her lips. "And we haven't even talked about Jill."

At that, Bryce quickly became defensive. "Hey, now, Jill was just a misunderstanding."

"Was it now."

"Absolutely." Bryce proceeded to explain everything that happened with Jill after Chuck left Stanford. His explanation about Jill was long and coherent and impassioned, and she could detect nothing that suggested he might be lying.

If everything he said was true, Bryce never made a play for Jill at all. She wondered what Chuck might do if he knew, and had to admit she was a little ashamed of how jealous she felt at his likely reaction.

**Scene XVII – Los Angeles, Restaurant**

"Wow, you really brought Sarah here?" Carina asked incredulously.

Chuck looked around the generic Tex-Mex restaurant. The two sat at a large booth clad in maroon leather; the high, curved back was inset with matching leather buttons. The bright red tablecloth didn't quite clash with the color of the booth, but it didn't quite match, either.

Hispanic waiters carried trays with baskets of chips and salt-rimmed glasses of bright-green margaritas. Their untucked shirts lent yet another shade of red, somewhere between the red of the tablecloth and the maroon of the booth, to the riotous color scheme.

He finished his bite of the slightly stale tortilla chip, washing it down with a sip of his light-green margarita. Carina had wanted to go somewhere he had taken Sarah, so he chose the site of their first 'date'. "What's the problem?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, c'mon, Chuck, this place is as cheesy as they come. The bad mariachi singers, the combination platters," she said, pointing to the menu. "The fake flowers," she said, grabbing one of the fake lilies in the basket next to her for emphasis. "Next you'll be telling me that you took her out in that ridiculous Nerd Herd clown car you tool around town in."

Chuck gave an awkward shrug.

Carina rolled her eyes as she laughed. "And you wonder why Sarah hasn't come clean with her feelings."

The chip that was headed for his mouth quickly reversed course. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If this is what constitutes a 'date' for you two, I don't exactly see her getting swept off her feet."

"Now, in fairness, the night I brought her here she was…" Chuck paused, picking his words carefully. He was wading into dangerous waters. "… recruiting me."

"But you thought it was a date?"

Chuck nodded.

"And you thought this would impress her?"

"I happen to like this place. I think it's a good place to talk and get to know someone. We had fun here."

"Of course you did: she was recruiting you. Hell, you probably got lucky that night despite yourself."

Chuck flashed back, in the conventional sense, to that night. He had gone from being on a date to being in a car chase to being in Sarah's gun sights to being in Casey's gun sights to disarming a bomb in the space of an hour. Afterwards, he spent the night on the beach, listening to the waves of the ocean crash onto the shore, trying to get his head around everything that had happened. That was the first night that Sarah watched over him … and the first time she asked him to trust her.

He really preferred not to think about that night given the current circumstances. He took a large gulp of his margarita, emptying a significant portion from his glass, and tried to change the subject. "So, how did you get recruited?"

"I volunteered," she said shortly.

Chuck smiled curiously, raising an eyebrow. "Really? Wanted to be a spy all your life, something like that?"

"Something like that." Her tone and demeanor indicated that she didn't feel comfortable talking about the subject. She sorted through the chips with a finicky expression, picking one up before changing her mind and setting it on her bread plate. She forced a smile. "So why was Sarah recruiting you?"

Again, Chuck found himself stuck between saying nothing and walking a dangerous line. He polished off the margarita, hoping their waiter would show up soon so he could order another one.

"About all I can say is that they wanted me for my computer expertise." Even that felt like he was saying too much. _Is this how Sarah feels when she talks to other people? That even sharing a little bit is too much?_

"You said 'they'," she noted shrewdly. "Is 'they' Casey and Sarah?"

He felt his face give away the answer, so he felt no harm in nodding. _Where is the damn waiter?_ She was getting far too much information out of him.

"Huh. Unusual that both the NSA and CIA would be interested in you," she said, giving him a flirty little smile. "You must be really important."

He knew the compliment was just her way of probing for information; even so, he had a tough time resisting the urge to start babbling about the Intersect and Fulcrum and anything else that might impress her enough to keep her smiling at him that way. He felt his will eroding.

Now he knew how Casey must feel around Carina.

Unable to come up with something safe to say, he was finally rescued by the waiter. "Are you ready to order, senores?"

An irritated expression crossed her face, breaking her spell. Chuck felt like gasping in relief as her eyes turned away from him.

Carina said, "Sure, I'll have combination plate #3, whatever that is, and we'll have two more margaritas."

"But senorita, you have hardly touched your first one."

Giving the waiter a cross glare, she picked up the huge glass and drained the glass in under ten seconds, never flinching as she downed the potent concoction. She set the glass on the table with a stare that said, _Now can I have another one?_

Chuck swallowed hard. This was turning into a very dangerous evening, if it hadn't already been one the moment he took Carina's arm back in the courtyard.

**Scene XVIII – Merida, Restaurante**

The pair sat quietly, snacking on an appetizer plate of arepas filled with shredded pork, corn and chiles. Sarah was starving, but they needed to drag their meal out so they could observe their marks. She forced herself to eat the delicious food slowly. Bryce's motives for starting their meal early were certainly backfiring; the hunger and lack of sleep were starting to wear on Sarah's nerves.

Bryce was clearly a bit set back. Normally so voluble around Sarah, he quietly ate an arepa with his knife and fork, occasionally stealing a peek at her as if to assess her state of mind.

Sarah had to admit she was a bit set back as well. She had been pleasantly surprised by how easily their friendly banter had come back early on in the mission, and she certainly enjoyed everything that went into getting to Merida. However, once they were alone without the activities, things became more awkward.

The bus ride into town had been fairly quiet; Sarah had spent much of it watching the scenery as the bus wound though the charming city streets, lacking anything to say to her ex-partner.

After checking into their small room at a local hacienda, the ramifications of their separation became even more apparent. For example, when she went to shower in their room, she was very self-conscious about disrobing in front of him, choosing instead to slip into the bathroom. That certainly wasn't something that had been an issue during their last months as partners; often she didn't even need to disrobe by the time she headed for the shower. That passion certainly wasn't there.

The awkwardness really wasn't surprising, given the way Bryce had left and the way she hadn't answered his call to join him. The events surrounding his return to L.A. allowed the two no time to talk or work through any of the details; their most meaningful bits of conversation were in code phrases, and they had found zero time to discuss the emotions both were feeling. The emotions that were still hanging out there.

It was clear that six months of seeming betrayal, shocking revelations and sudden departures weren't going to be resolved with a day of extreme adventures and a plate of appetizers. As she had once told Chuck, it was … complicated.

At some point, though, she knew that Bryce's offer to join him was going to come again. This time, she wouldn't get away with letting the phone roll to voice mail. She would have to answer, and she couldn't get her head around how she could possibly make a rational decision between the two missions. Not with her relationship with Bryce being as strained as it was.

Sarah slid her fork under the last bits of arepa on her plate, carefully dipping it in the crème fraiche before raising the bite to her lips. Savoring the morsel, she raised her white napkin to dab a stray bit of sauce from her upper lip. She took a long sip of her water; when she set the glass down, all that was left between them were empty plates and silence.


	6. Entrees

**Scene XIX – Los Angeles, Restaurant**

Chuck and Carina were laughing over their half-eaten combination plates.

Chuck was telling a story, a huge grin on his face as he waved his fork around for emphasis. "So then Lester says 'I'm like milk; I'll do your body good.'"

Carina's eyes widened, her expression full of disbelief. "He did not."

"Oh, he did."

"God, that has got to be the cheesiest line ever. What did she say?"

Chuck gave a small laugh as he recalled the scene, memorized over repeated watchings in the Buy More home theater room. "That's the best part. In complete seriousness, she said, 'I don't understand; I'm lactose-intolerant.'"

"No! She couldn't have been serious?!"

"Totally, completely and utterly serious. She delivered one of the best slams I've ever heard, and she didn't even mean to do it. Lester ran away with his tail between his legs."

Carina started laughing all over again. The pair had finally found a subject they could freely talk about: the antics of the Buy More crew. Both seemed to relax more once the conversation was on neutral ground. The fact that each was well into his second margarita probably didn't hurt, either.

Their laughter ran its course; they both took a moment to eat a bite or two. Carina had been initially skeptical when the waiter brought out their dinners, but she seemed to be coming around on the food.

After washing down a bite with a drink of water, she asked, "So, Martin finally got himself a girlfriend?"

"Morgan," Chuck corrected her.

"Right, Morgan. He has a girlfriend?"

"Yep. Her name is Anna; she also works at the Buy More."

She shook her head. "Well, more power to Anna."

Chuck took offense for his friend at her comment. "What does that mean?"

"Look, Chuck, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't understand the life you lead. Generic Tex-Mex, penguin documentaries, family game nights … it's just not the kind of life agent types like to lead."

"Well, maybe some agents feel differently."

Chuck looked down at his plate to secure another bite, so he missed Carina's calculating glance before she replied. "I doubt it. Take Sarah: she's cut from the same cloth. She wouldn't be happy here. Not over the long term."

The idea hit far closer to home than Chuck cared to admit. The speed with which he attacked his enchilada diminished as he processed what she said. He refused to look at her, hoping to at least partially conceal his feelings.

After another calculating glance, Carina sipped her margarita and casually looked away, adding, "Maybe that's why Sarah is off doing whatever: time to get out of Dodge."

Chuck's stifled a wince; that struck even closer to his darkest fears. He forced himself to focus on his plate, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

He suddenly found himself wondering, again, whether Sarah was gone for good. What Carina suggested was just another reason why Sarah might be gone. He liked to think that Sarah enjoyed the quieter evenings the two spent together, along with some of the 'dates' they had been on. But maybe Carina was right: maybe it was only a matter of time before an agent like Sarah got bored. Maybe Sarah was a better actress than he gave her credit for.

Everything seemed to point to Sarah leaving. Everyone seemed to expect it. However, Chuck wasn't ready to let her go. Not yet.

Since Carina seemed determined to ply him for information, he decided it was time for a little payback.

"What makes you say Sarah is cut from the same cloth?"

"I've known her for a long time. She likes action and adventure; she doesn't like to sit around and wait for things to happen."

"Sarah's seemed perfectly content to have a quiet evening or two," he countered.

Carina shrugged. "She's always gotten restless on the longer assignments. She's always had a wild streak."

"Sarah? A wild streak? C'mon. Like what?"

"You know I can't talk about past missions."

Chuck didn't want to outright lie; however, he wasn't above a little misdirection at this point. "Remember your little Argentina trip and what I knew about that? But that's not even what I'm talking about. If you two go way back, you have to have a couple of stories on her that have nothing to do with a specific mission."

Chuck had no idea whether the tact would work. He half-expected Carina to shut down again, like she had done when he had asked about how she became an agent. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised when a fond smile came to her face.

"Well, there was this one time when we were in Bangkok…"

Chuck's face lit up. He was finally going to learn something real about Sarah.

Ironic that it would come now, when Sarah was probably gone from his life for good.

**Scene XX – Merida, Restaurante**

Something was wrong.

Sarah couldn't put her finger on it, but an instinct warned her that something was off. She took another bite of chicken, trying to figure out what it was.

She found she was having trouble making conversation with Bryce. Their jobs dominated their lives, and so much of what they did was classified that they simply weren't allowed to talk about much of it. Even a question about where Bryce had been recently had quickly degenerated into the usual apologies for not being able to discuss it.

While they were partners, that obviously wasn't a problem, as they could discuss their shared experiences. However, now the missions that she had undertaken with Chuck and Casey were off-limits to Bryce, and the missions he undertook against Fulcrum were similarly out-of-bounds for her.

That would change with time. If she chose to go along with Bryce, he would be able to brief her on past assignments. They would start to share missions again, so they would be able to talk about more things. That bond would return, as would the camaraderie. But would the other thing return as well?

She couldn't dwell on that: something was wrong. It wasn't any imminent danger; it was something else. Something about the two of them?

She mentally examined how they would look to others. Sarah was sitting in a polite position, one toned leg extended slightly in front of the other under the table. Her face was bathed in the glow of candlelight. Waiters had delivered centerpieces to all the tables after the sun went down, and subtle shadows danced across her face as the flame flickered.

She casually sliced another bite from her polvorosa de pollo, shredded chicken wrapped by a pastry glazed with raw sugar and spices. It was truly delicious, but as much as she wanted to focus on it, she couldn't be distracted by food right now. What was wrong?

Bryce similarly sat in a polite stance, lifting a small bite of his asado negro to his mouth. The roast beef actually had an American twist, paired as it was with carrot and potatoes gently stewed in a red wine sauce. He caught her looking at him and communicated his curiosity with a glance, noting the subtle indications that her mind was focused on business.

When she finished constructing an image of the two in her mind, it suddenly became obvious. Both of them looked tense, with rigid postures, solemn faces and a noticeable lack of conversation. They looked like amateur agents on their first stake-out. Even though the tension had nothing to do with their mission, that didn't change the fact that an agent like Moreno would notice them in a New York minute.

The posture was the easiest to solve; she simply needed to relax. She slid her front foot even with the other and forced her shoulders to a more natural position. Allowing her arms to swing a bit more freely to her sides as she ate helped convey a sense of ease. A smile completed the illusion.

Bryce noticed the adjustments she was making and mirrored them with his own changes, nodding appreciatively at the catch.

The last needed touch was the conversation; despite their current struggles to interact, they needed to at least appear to be a couple. In a low, conversational tone, she said, "So what look are we going for here? Married couple? First date?"

He finished chewing a bite of his beef, which gave him time to contemplate his answer. "How about … former lovers trying to re-ignite an old flame?"

Sarah's words belied the flirty expression on her face. "How about former partners trying to remember how to work together?" Her tone wasn't unfriendly, but it was certainly on the professional side.

He showed he could be as professional as Sarah, keeping the façade of a man enjoying a date firmly in place. Still, knowing him as she did, she noticed the minor wound her words inflicted. Although nobody else in the room would have noticed, she knew that he wanted to confront her.

She needed to stop that from happening; the mission was too important. She cut him off, the words seeming all the stranger for the coquettish expression on her face. "Bryce, I don't have an answer for the questions you want to ask. This whole thing is still a bit surreal. Thirty-six hours ago, it wasn't even possible to see you, let alone to become partners with you again. I'm adaptable, but not that adaptable."

Her answer seemed to placate him somewhat. With words that did fit his expression, he said, "Just know that I've missed you, and I haven't given up on us. I won't give up on us. But I can be patient."

She felt some of her tension melting away. He always had a way of sensing her mood and saying just the right things, words that pushed her slightly in the direction he wanted without scaring her in any way. She gave a subtle smile of thanks, content to leave it at that for the time being.

Satisfied that their cover was once again intact, Sarah took another bite of her dinner, closing her eyes and savoring the way the sweetness gave way to spice which gave way to the roasted flavor of the chicken. A contented sigh escaped her lips.

When she opened her eyes, she sensed the slightest change in Bryce's demeanor. Keeping the same slightly flirty smile on her face, she asked, "Are they here?"

Her tone reminded him of their cover; the change in his demeanor evaporated, and once again they were just two young people on a date. "Moreno is here. Just walked through the main door."

Sarah casually glanced to her left and up the tiered levels to the top of the restaurant. The main door was centered so that patrons would walk in facing the wall of picture windows.

Moreno was a dark-haired man with quiet brown eyes. He wore a casual brown sports coat over a stiff white shirt. Sarah didn't notice much more, because she instinctively noticed that he wasn't so much scanning the room for his dinner partner as he was scanning the room for signs of trouble. She carefully drew her eyes away and let out a deliberate, quiet laugh, cutting another bite from her entrée. "Yeah, he was an agent all right. He's scoping out the room."

Leaning forward, Bryce replied, in a seductive tone that in no way matched his words, "Well, let's see who the mystery guest is."

Sarah forced herself to take another measured look out the window to keep herself from examining the room too carefully. She allowed herself to get briefly caught up in the twinkling galaxy of lights laid out across the plains below. She irrationally wondered how Chuck felt about international travel before pushing him from her mind.

A shout by the guests at a nearby table gave her an excuse to look back towards the center of the restaurant. Two middle-aged Venezuelan couples were toasting with red wine at the table across the aisle, boisterously drinking to each other's health.

Looking up, she saw that Moreno had finished inspecting the room, the serious look replaced by a smile. An older gentlemen with a friendly smile and thinning, silver hair parted on one side walked up. He wore an elegant grey suit with a multicolored silk tie; he walked over to Moreno and shook his hand with both of his, his left hand gripping Moreno firmly by the forearm.

Sarah quickly captured a snapshot of the elder man in her mind and turned back to Bryce, who was focused on his food. "Our mystery guest has announced himself," she informed him.

Bryce paused for a moment, forcing himself to wait before looking to avoid attracting attention. When he did look, he let out an audible gasp that only Sarah could hear, although his face betrayed nothing. He quickly focused on his plate again, sawing at his beef with a slightly greater vigor than normal.

"Oh, my God," Bryce said. "That's Gustavo Varela, top strategist and chief fundraiser for the COPEI."

"What, the right-wing political party?"

Bryce nodded grimly. "What the hell is Fulcrum doing dabbling in Venezuelan politics?"


	7. Desserts

**Scene XXI – Los Angeles, Restaurant**

"So Sarah's in this pub in Belfast, talking in an Irish brogue that makes her sound like she's from a sheep farm in the countryside. Despite having downed four pints, her accent doesn't slip once; she's got every last one of them fooled."

Chuck could picture the scene in his head: a slightly younger Sarah, totally faking out an entire bar full of Irishmen on a whim. He let out a quiet laugh, wishing he could have been there.

She continued, "They start singing songs, and before you know it, Sarah's leading them in a chorus of 'Danny Boy' from the top of the bar, swinging her beer glass back and forth to direct the swaying of the drunken crowd. As an encore, she damn near takes down the pub dart champion. I still think she threw the match to avoid embarrassing the poor guy." Carina shook her head, eyes distant as she drew back into her memories. "She's probably a legend at that pub."

His grin grew. Carina had now told three different stories about the two of them during down times after missions. Each tale conjured mixed feelings: he loved getting some insight into her past, but each also showed him just how little he really knew about the mysterious Sarah Walker. And these were the fun stories, not the ones with Sarah Walker, ruthless secret agent. His grin faded a bit; he sighed.

"It's OK, you know."

Chuck looked up to find her staring at him intently, the reminiscing expression gone from her face. "What is?" he asked.

"To be sad that she's gone." Her eyes shown with understanding.

Something about her statement didn't sit quite right with Chuck. "That seems like an odd view for somebody who advocates not getting close to anybody in the first place."

Her face showed a hint of guilt, like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. She quickly backpedaled. "Well, I'm talking for you. You're an analyst; odds of you needing to stick a knife in somebody tomorrow are virtually zero. It's a little different for the agents than the analysts."

Again, he wasn't buying it. Not entirely. "You sure you don't ever miss anyone? Not even a little?"

Carina hesitated; Chuck could see her marshaling her defenses again.

Sensing her discomfort, he added, "It's all right; you don't need to answer that."

She gave him a melancholy smile; his words somehow seemed to make it easier for her to answer. "Some times. I try not to think about things like that too much. Can't afford to."

Somehow, her answer meant a lot to Chuck. _If even the seemingly coldest agents found it tough at times…_

The question escaped his lips before he could stop it. "Do you think Sarah will miss me?" He looked at Carina, his heart in his eyes. He didn't bother trying to hide how he felt; he couldn't have hidden his feelings if he had wanted to.

She gave him an ascertaining look, her thoughts unreadable. After a long moment, she answered in an uncharacteristically soft tone, "Yes. I think she will."

Chuck offered her a bittersweet smile of thanks, looking away. He really didn't want Sarah to miss him if she felt the need to move on, but at the same time, he really wanted their time together to mean … something. Even though it was a bit selfish, he liked the idea of Sarah and Carina sharing a beer somewhere down the road, with Sarah wondering aloud to Carina what could have been. He liked the poetry of it.

Carina apparently decided it was long past time to shake off this kind of talk; she slammed the table with both hands, snapping him from his mooning. "But that's why I keep saying that you have to seize the moment. Live in the here and now. Take what's in front of you while you … what in the world is that?"

The waiter had brought over a dish with a spiny brown mass covered in cinnamon and chocolate sauce, with two lit sparklers spraying little silver stars into the air. He wordlessly set it down between the two of them, offering up two spoons and a smile before he departed.

Carina stared at the mass as if she expected it to sprout legs and walk off the plate.

"C'mon, you've never had fried ice cream?" Chuck asked her in disbelief.

"No," she responded, her face settling into an odd mix of fascination and dubious disdain.

"Wow, you need to get out more."

Carina directed an incredulous expression at him before realizing he was playing with her a little. She gave an abashed laugh and returned to her examination of the fried concoction, poking at it tentatively with her spoon. The whole scoop moved as she prodded the shell.

He was thoroughly amused. "Look, it's just a scoop of ice cream that they freeze solid, dip in batter and deep fry. It's good. Try a bite."

Carina tried unsuccessfully a couple of times to penetrate the shell with her spoon, but the ball simply slid across the bowl or spun slightly on the pool of warm chocolate syrup.

Suddenly frustrated, she stabbed down at the globe with her spoon. The blow peeled away a sizable piece of the crisp coating; her follow-through shattered the crust and sprayed fried shrapnel with gooey bits of ice cream and chocolate across the table.

The speed of the thrust was enough to push the ball of ice cream over the edge of the bowl and onto the table, the sparklers hissing in protest as they were pinned against the table.

Chuck burst out laughing at the carnage. "It's not funny," Carina stated, her unhappiness reflected in her face. Given the wreckage on the table and a couple of stray pieces of breading lodged in her hair, Chuck only laughed harder.

Carina surveyed the damage and fought to maintain her angry expression, but started laughing despite herself.

**Scene XXII – Merida, Restaurant**

Moreno and Varela shared a table in an upper corner of the tiered restaurant. Because of their location, Sarah and Bryce were in no position to hear what the two discussed. Sarah was more than a little frustrated that they weren't closer.

"Well, the view is nice from here, but unfortunately, it's not that view that matters."

"Oh, ye of little faith." Bryce tapped the ear closest to the window, which now contained an ear piece.

"You bugged their table?"

Bryce shot her an annoyed look at the obvious question.

Sarah flushed. "How did you know where they'd be sitting?"

"I didn't. I bugged every table."

"And if our friend had a way of detecting the bug?"

Bryce shook his head. "He couldn't. I used GLG-20's; they're almost impossible to detect because…"

"…they use very low power, but that only gives them a range of about 20 yards. Yeah, I have some experience with those." _Very recent experience._

Bryce's expression conveyed his curiosity, but he set it aside for another time. "It took me a bit to find their table on the receiver," he said, patting his coat pocket, "so I missed the very beginning of their conversation. But I've been listening to a live feed for the past few minutes."

"And…?"

"Either Moreno is talking in code phrases, or he is being carefully vague. We'll need to do some translation work on the recordings. Best I can tell, Moreno is informing Varela that there needs to be some changes in where the funds are being sent, whatever that means."

"That makes no sense. Why would COPEI send money where Fulcrum wants?"

"They wouldn't; certainly not directly. Half the reason that Chavez was able to seize control of the Venezuelan government is because COPEI and the other major political party got caught in a series of corruption scandals. They couldn't chance getting caught again."

"Well, then what…"

Bryce gave her a look and subtly held up a finger, obviously trying to listen to the conversation. Sarah was left to do with nothing but wait. She scraped together the remains of her dulce de leche flan before deciding she was well past the point of being full; she set down her spoon and stared out at the lights below.

In a normal, conversational tone, Bryce said, "Moreno is leaving." He stole another bite of his sinfully rich chocolate cake.

Sarah ran a hand behind her neck and casually stretched, allowing her to steal a glance at the table. Sure enough, Varela was vigorously shaking Moreno's hand. The two exchanged a final smile, and Moreno walked away. Varela sat back down, signaling to the waiter that he wanted to order something.

Bryce summed up the rest of the conversation. "Our friends arranged a meeting at a local estancia tomorrow night. The guy who can redirect the funds will be there."

"Surveillance at those estates is tough. The grounds tend to be huge, and if the owner has any type of security, we're not getting anywhere close to the main house."

"Well, the meeting is happening during a fundraising event, likely to camouflage the people who are meeting. We can probably sneak in pretty easily."

Sarah grinned. "I've got a better idea. Follow my lead," she said, folding her napkin and standing up.

Bryce was a bit taken aback. He subtly removed his earpiece as he stood, slipping it into a pocket as he buttoned his jacket. He took a couple of quick steps to catch up to her, placing a hand in the small of her back as if to guide her.

The pair strolled up one of the two main aisles leading towards the top of the restaurant, with sets of three stairs raising them from tier to tier. When they reached the top tier, Sarah looked at Gustavo as if noticing him for the first time, grabbing Bryce's sleeve and indicating he should follow her. The two approached the table.

Sarah, with Bryce closely in two, approached Varela's table. "Senor Varela?" she inquired.

"Yes?" he answered in Spanish.

In nearly perfect Spanish, Sarah responded, "I thought it was you. I'm a great admirer of what your party is trying to do."

Varela looked pleased. "Thank you. Somebody needs to stand up to Chavez and his increasingly socialist regime."

"Do you think there is any chance that your party can gain enough power to stop him?"

"It's a difficult fight, but one we think we can win, Ms…?" At the comment, Gustavo stood up and leaned across the table to offer Sarah his hand.

"My apologies, where are my manners? My name is Sarah Wilkinson, and this is my husband, Bruce."

After he finished shaking Sarah's hand, Varela stepped out from behind the table and gave Bryce another of his vigorous, two-handed handshakes. "You are a lucky man, Mr. Wilkinson. Your wife is a truly beautiful creature."

His Spanish slightly more polished than Sarah's, Bryce answered, "She is a remarkable woman. I am always a better man with her by my side."

Sarah caught the double-meaning in Bryce's words; she couldn't help but be affected by the compliment. Apparently, he still had some pull on her.

As was typical in South America, Gustavo focused on the male when matters of business were at hand. "So you share your wife's interest in our work?"

"Absolutely. We have heavy stakes in a number of American companies in Venezuela, and the privatizations have cost us a lot of money. We wish to see a return to more of a free market to protect our interests."

"Well, that is exactly what we are fighting to do. Would you care to join me to hear more about our plans?"

"We would love to."

"Are you sure we aren't interrupting?" Sarah added.

"Not at all. My dinner partner was called away early, so I would appreciate the company."

Bryce seated Sarah in the chair opposite Varela. Signaling to the waiter, soon Bryce was sitting in a third chair to the side of the table.

Over coffee, Varela explained some of the party's initiatives, but both Sarah and Bryce found it difficult to believe any of them would release the stranglehold that Chavez had on the country. Still, they feigned interest, and gradually acted as if they were becoming more enthusiastic about the party's prospects as the conversation went on.

Sarah could sense that Gustavo had just about reached the point in his sales pitch where he was going to ask the two for a donation. Knowing it would be more believable for her to be the one to beg off, she gently tapped Bryce on the arm, not needing to act too much to put a tired expression on her face.

"I apologize, Senor Varela," Bryce said. "My wife's plane landed in Sao Paolo very early this morning and she has had an eventful day. Perhaps we could continue our discussion another time?"

Varela looked a little disappointed, but concealed it well. "I hope you will forgive my presumption, but if you happen to be free tomorrow night, we are holding a fund-raising event just northwest of Ejido. Perhaps we could continue our discussion there?"

"We would be honored."

"Excellent." Varela pulled out a sheaf of oversized cards from inside his jacket pocket; the front contained a picture of an elaborate estancia, the back directions and details about the event. He pulled out one of his business cards and scribbled notes on the back. "Bruce and Sarah Wilkinson. 'Wilkinson' with an 'o', I presume?" he inquired.

"Correct."

He wrote the names down before standing. "I will make certain you are added you to the guest list. I look forward to seeing you there."

Once again, Bryce was subjected to an overly vigorous handshake that was apparently a trademark of Gustavo Varela, while Sarah again received a much gentler version. After bidding Varela good night, the team casually made their way back to their table to pay their bill.

Switching back to English, Sarah wryly whispered, "Looks like I'll be doing some shopping tomorrow."

"Me too," Bryce replied. "You don't want to know what happened to my last tux."


	8. Night Caps

**Scene XXIII – Los Angeles, Restaurant**

Chuck and Carina walked out of the restaurant. Chuck had one hand inserted into his pocket under his shirt tails as he held the door for her; he tried very hard not to stare at the curves on Carina's body as she sauntered through the door.

The dress she wore was definitely dangerous: a teenage boy almost walked into the door jamb in front of his parents as he tried to turn his head around to watch Carina and enter the restaurant at the same time.

Normally, Chuck would have laughed, but it was hard to blame the kid … or the dad, who took the door from Chuck in part to give him an excuse to watch Carina walk away.

Letting go of the door, Chuck turned around to join Carina as the two walked down the street towards her car, a couple blocks away. The second margarita had him comfortably relaxed; he savored feel of the cool night air in his lungs and the sounds of their footfalls on the concrete.

"So, what did you and Sarah do after the whole Tex-Mex experience?" she asked.

"I took her to a club. There was this great band playing … what?" He cut himself off, noticing her expression.

"I'm impressed, Bartowksi. I expected the lame dinner-and-a-movie thing, but it takes a bit of planning and self-confidence to take a girl to a club. Did you dance?"

"A little."

"Just a little?"

"Let's just say the recruiting started in full force at the club and leave it at that."

"Ah," she said knowingly. "That's the problem with agents dating: so many things you can't share."

"I'm beginning to see that."

"That's why I like to jump right to the sex. You interested in a night cap?"

Chuck felt his face turn red; he couldn't look at her, but he felt her eyes burning into him. After a moment, he finally gave an awkward laugh. "I'll give you this: you certainly keep things interesting."

"More interesting than staying in with Casey would have been; that's for sure."

"Yeah, about that: how did you convince Casey to let us go out, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I got him to strip down to his boxer shorts and hand-cuffed him to his bed."

Chuck laughed. She had to be joking; Casey had already fallen for that twice, he wouldn't fall for it again…

Another look at her face told him: without a doubt, Casey had fallen for it again. He stopped in his tracks.

"Ohmygod, I need to go let him out."

Carina walked up to Chuck, grabbing a firm hold of his shirt with both hands and pulling his body against hers. The light and spicy perfume she wore started to work its magic on him again.

Her mouth was suddenly close, and very, very slowly getting closer. "No, you really don't," she said. "Casey's a big boy. Besides, you know what they say: 'Fool me once; shame on you. Fool me twice; shame on me.'" Her mouth was a mere inch away from his. His lips tingled, sensing that the act of talking or breathing would be enough to bring his lips into contact with hers.

"What about 'fool me three times'?" Chuck managed to force out, leaning his head back slightly to create a bit of separation.

Her hands let go of his shirt. She smoothed the fabric back to his chest, gently running her hands across his pectoral muscles, before she slid her hands up and over his shoulders. He trembled slightly as her hands slid behind his neck to pull his head back towards hers. "I think it says that this is an opportunity that you would be foolish to pass up…"

Her lips brushed his once, then again. He felt his eyebrows rise in reaction to the surprise he shouldn't have felt. When her lips parted gently between his, his mouth opened slightly in answer, but suddenly her mouth was gone.

And then it was back, gently covering his. Again, his lips parted instinctively to her kiss. This time, her mouth remained, her tongue dancing through his lips ever so slightly. She tasted of cinnamon and vanilla, faint echoes of the dessert they had shared.

Bits and pieces of their conversation that evening flashed through his head.

_It's OK, you know_, she said to him.

_What is?_

_To be sad that she's gone._

He was sad that Sarah was gone. Suddenly, the evening almost felt like a wake, a way for both of them to say goodbye to Sarah as she went off on her next great adventure.

Carina's lips were slow and patient and intoxicating, explorative and playful, masterful at their craft. They were invitation and persuasion.

Chuck was sad, sad and lonely. But he didn't have to be alone tonight if he didn't want to be.

**Scene XIV – Merida, Hacienda**

Sarah didn't realize her dilemma until she got back to the room.

When she jumped out of the plane, she had room for only a couple of things in her bag. She had quickly gone through her large handbag and assembled a few things: her little black cocktail dress, a pair of matching shoes, her bag of costume jewelry, her "medical kit", part of her dop kit, a couple of pairs of underwear and a bra. That, along with the professional suit she wore, was all she had brought with her.

But that left her with nothing to sleep in … and the two of them needed to share the bed. She certainly wanted to be careful not to send any messages.

Sarah was forced to borrow one of Bryce's undershirts. Unfortunately, given their relative builds, the effect was not exactly what she was going for. Even after deliberately trying to stretch the fabric with her hands, her breasts strained against the thin fabric in a fairly provocative manner, leaving her uncomfortable in more ways than one. The cute little boy shorts she wore likely didn't reduce her appeal, either.

She emitted a tired sigh. There was no help for it; they would both just need to be professional about it.

She came out of the bathroom with a long towel wrapped around her neck, trying to casually conceal the more salient points of her chagrin. Bryce, to his credit, neither made a comment nor overtly stared at her outfit as he passed, although she thought she sensed him turning to catch of glimpse of her as he turned to enter the bathroom. As the door to the bathroom closed, she realized that sense might just have been her own paranoia; she really didn't know.

There was no help for it but to climb into bed and use the sheets to cover herself. Exhausted, she simply dropped the towel to the floor before placing a sheathed throwing knife under her pillow. She switched off the light on her nightstand and climbed into bed, arranging her tired limbs in a comfortable position on her half of the bed, consciously positioning her head to face the wall rather than where Bryce would be lying.

In her fatigued state, she found herself reliving the day. Dreamily, her mind revisited and lingered on one memory before jumping to another. She pictured plunging through the air, remembering the way the parachute jolted her body into a slower descent. She thought about the fruit and the little boy on the rustic mountain farm. The ATVs, the market in the town, the bus ride into Merida, the first sight of their hacienda, the delicious dinner … she had definitely had worse days. And they had made progress on their mission to boot.

She started when Bryce opened the bathroom door, the light on the far wall re-awakening her slightly. His figure cast a familiar shadow on the wall, one lending comfort and safety to the unfamiliar surroundings. The light turned off.

With heavy-lidded eyes, she watched his silhouette cross her line of vision; she allowed her eyes to close once more. Part of her still worried about what Bryce might be thinking about the two of them sharing a bed again, but mostly she was just too tired to care.

His light turned off, and the covers on his side of the bed rose up. He slid into bed, facing her, neither lying too close nor too far away. It was almost an offer without an offer. _I'm here if you want me, _he said.

The comforting scent of him gently filled her nostrils. A tiny corner of her mind, the last portion of her wakefulness, warned her about enjoying the old feelings of safety and intimacy that the smell of him conjured. The dropping of guards led to emotional actions made under the seemingly safe blanket of darkness, only to be exposed in the morning light for the mistakes they were. She didn't really listen to what her instincts were telling her; mostly, she was just too tired to care.

That same bit of wakefulness tried to remind her of something she forgot to do, something important, but the voice found no audience. One of her hands instinctively slid up towards her neck, every inch an effort. Eventually her hand failed in its journey, coming to rest extended out away from her body as sleep claimed her.

She was just too tired too care.

**Scene XXV – Casey's Apartment**

Casey lay on his bed, hands above his head, dozing. He quickly became alert as the front door to his apartment opened. Whoever it was shut the door, walked a few paces and paused.

Even if it was a good idea, he couldn't have called out because of the saliva-soaked athletic sock balled up in his mouth, so he sat there and listened intently.

Quiet footsteps on the stairs indicated that the intruder was heading towards his room. The apartment was still mostly dark; the street lamp over the parking lot cast vertically lined shadows across his body, looking like the shadows from the bars of a jail cell.

He drew himself up in a ball; should he need to attack, his only weapon would be a strong, well-placed kick, two if he were lucky.

His preparations were unnecessary: Chuck appeared in his doorway.

Casey's anger and frustration returned as Chuck walked across to the bed; he sat down on the bed as he pulled the sock from Casey's mouth.

"Not one word, Bartowski. If you say one damn word…"

Looking at Chuck's face in the dim light, Casey felt his anger fade. Chuck certainly wasn't about to say anything about the handcuffs or the briefs or being fooled again; his face was full of sadness and regret. It apparently hadn't been the best of nights for him, either.

He produced the keys to the handcuffs, unlocking the manacles and dropping the keys on the night stand.

Chuck simply stared vacantly at the wall for a long moment. He looked as though he wanted to ask a question, and then as though he had decided that he wouldn't like the answer. He got up and left the room without a word.

Casey rubbed his wrists in relief, trying to restore the circulation to some of the vessels compressed by the cool metal. As he listened to Chuck's fading foot steps and the sounds of the front door opening and shutting, he wondered why Carina had given Chuck the keys … and what in the world had happened to him tonight.


	9. Apples and Oranges

**Scene XXVI – Casa Bartowski, Chuck's Room**

The alarm clock wouldn't shut up.

Brawp. Brawp. Brawp. Brawp.

Chuck reluctantly swam back towards consciousness, unable to ignore the shrill twice-per-second squawking.

Brawp. Brawp. Brawp. Brawp.

Aside from the blaring noise, the first thing he noticed was the taste in his mouth. After setting Casey free last night, he had returned to his room. He took just enough time to slide out of his button-down and jeans before collapsing into bed, willing sleep to overtake him and provide him escape, albeit temporary.

He was paying the price for not brushing his teeth now. He tried moving his tongue around, knowing it couldn't eliminate the sour taste or the cottony sensation.

Brawp. Brawp. Brawp. Brawp.

On top of that, he was definitely second-guessing his decision to move the clock across the room. He had been oversleeping lately, and while he couldn't deny that the move was having its desired effect, right now he was really regretting it.

He opened his eyes, gradually adjusting to the dim light slipping through the cracks in the blinds. He stared at the ceiling until his eyes focused.

Brawp. Brawp. Brawp. Brawp.

Anger rising, he irrationally yanked off one of his socks, rigged it into a ball, and hurled it at the clock. He missed to the right by about a foot … not that he was sure what good it would have done if his aim were true. At least he might have felt better.

Brawp. Brawp. Brawp. Brawp.

_Fine_, he conceded irritably. _I'll get up._

He lifted the covers and pivoted his body, throwing his feet over the edge of the mattress, levering his body into a sitting position. After steadying himself for a moment, he got to his feet and walked across the room to silence the mocking noise.

Brawp. Brawp. Bra.

Chuck breathed a deep sigh of relief; he could finally think again. Not that this was the best thing. He collapsed back into his computer chair, running his hands over his face. Looking down at his desk, he saw the key to Carina's hotel room lying next to his wallet.

A sardonic laugh escaped his lips. Room 697. That couldn't have happened by accident.

He hated himself. Carina and he had shared a fun evening together; they had even connected on a personal level more than he ever thought they could. And at the end of it, he turned her down. Again. _Why?_ Picturing her in her dress and the way her lips had caressed his, he asked himself again, _Dear God, why?_

Sighing, he tried to figure himself out.

While he didn't like the idea of Casey spending a whole night chained to his bed, he knew that wasn't why he left Carina. If Casey was gullible enough to get handcuffed to a bed again, he deserved what he got.

It also wasn't the intimidation factor, although that was there in spades, too. He didn't delude himself that he would have any clue what to do with Carina in bed … but he suspected she would lead him in the right direction.

No, just as Carina's kiss threatened to ratchet up in intensity, Chuck had left because some idiotic, stubborn part of him stood up and declared it wasn't ready to admit that Sarah was gone for good. And while she wasn't gone for good, there was hope.

Maybe it was naïve. OK, it certainly was naïve. Yet a kernel deep within him flat-out refused to believe that she wouldn't be back. Call it instinct, call it blind faith, or call it stupidity.

Right now, Chuck was leaning pretty heavily towards stupidity.

After Chuck cut off the kiss, Carina had given him a spare key to her room along with an open invitation. _Any time, day or night_, she had whispered huskily in his ear. As she backed away, her smoldering eyes let him know what awaited him if he accepted her offer. If he would just lighten up and have a little fun. If he would just admit to himself that Sarah was gone.

The worst part was that even if Sarah came back, nothing guaranteed that the two of them would ever get together. Why would he think anything would possibly change, even if she did come back? He had spent most of the taxi ride home kicking himself, but still his heart refused to yield.

_Stupid_, Chuck thought, shaking his head. _Very stupid._

An aggravated groan escaped his lips as he leaned back in the chair and ran his hands over his face. Leaning forward, Chuck rolled himself onto his feet. He slipped his jeans over his boxers and headed for the kitchen. Maybe food would help.

**Scene ****XXVII**** – Hacienda, Room 12  
**

Fatigue permeated every fiber of her being from yesterday. Her limbs were heavy and sore; her eyelids were just heavy. But her heart was light.

Bryce was already up and gone, so she had the room to herself. Enjoying the solitude, she took in the quaint decor. A rustic-style dresser stood directly opposite the bed, with a narrow runner of colorful wool fabric centered across the top. A light wicker chair sat in the far corner, angling into the room. A few small but colorful pieces of traditional artwork decorated the walls.

A pleasant, atypically dry Venezuelan breeze stirred the gauzy white curtains surrounding the open window on the wall to her left, filling the room with fresh air and noises from the street market down the road. The midmorning sun angled into the room through the same gaps in the curtains and the door to the balcony, reflecting off the burnt orange tiles covering the floor and lending a faintly amber hue to large sections of the white walls.

Sarah gave a catlike stretch under the covers, a happy little noise escaping her lips. She didn't know what the best part of the morning was, but she couldn't have scripted it any better.

She felt free.

There was no need to coordinate with Casey about keeping surveillance intact every minute of the day. No putting her hair up in pig tails, sliding on the Weinerlicious uniform and spending half the day working the deep fryer. No need to check in with Graham. No paperwork.

This was the first day in months she didn't need to worry about any of that, and she had to admit that it felt pretty good. Sarah stretched again, and quickly found that the second stretch was nearly as rewarding as the first.

She knew the sense of freedom was partially illusion: there were preparations that needed to be made for the COPEI fundraiser that night. However, that wouldn't take the whole day, so she decided five more minutes of relaxation were definitely in order. At least five more minutes.

Unmaking Bryce's side of the bed, she stole his pillow and propped it behind her head, supporting her body in a more upright position. As she readjusted, her movements stirred his scent from his pillowcase, filling her with mixed emotions. She tried to ignore the scent so she could cling to her sense of relaxation for a moment longer, but shutting her eyes couldn't shut out the smell of him.

Reluctantly opening her eyes, she stared at the empty half of the bed. The scent and the setting stirred intimate, slightly hazy memories that almost seemed as though they should belong to somebody else, memories her heart didn't fully understand right then.

Not that she felt completely distant from Bryce. Yesterday, there were moments where it was as though no time had passed from their days as partners. The playfulness, the shared love of their jobs and the adventures, the interplay in their conversations … so much came back so easily.

Vestiges of their passion still remained. A compliment here and a smile there could, and did, still set her heart racing, though not with the fervor that it once had.

Then there were the strained moments, the times where it was easy to sense the distance between them. Bryce was working hard to smooth over those moments, but she knew him too well for the awkwardness, or his efforts, to go undetected.

That was to be expected, she reminded herself, whether it was Bryce or anyone else she had worked with. Six months was a long time, especially for somebody who had spent that time going after Fulcrum, nearly dying in the process. But it was especially true for lovers separated the way they had been.

The last six months had clearly been hard on Bryce. In those rare moments when his guard dropped, she could sense that events had chipped away at his seemingly indomitable spirit. It was somewhat disturbing to see; that spirit had always been the core of his strength as an agent and as a person. To see his spirit fraying at the edges was worrisome.

She shifted her body into a more comfortable position, twisting her body slightly and lifting her knees under the sheets. The rustling of the sheets provided a counterpoint to the sound of the curtains drifting in another gentle gust of wind. Sarah smiled at the sounds, again appreciating the quiet, but she couldn't quite shut down the wanderings of her mind.

At some point, she knew the two questions would come. The first would ask why she didn't pick up the phone when he called her in Los Angeles. The second, more important question would ask whether she would reconsider. She didn't have a good answer for either one.

The latter question was partly about the mission, but partly about something more. Bryce had made that clear at dinner the previous night that he wanted her back on more than one level, and that complicated things.

Or did it? Did his feelings really even matter? Bryce clearly needed her as more than a lover: he was wearing down, and he needed her as both partner and friend. His mission was clearly as important as hers, maybe made more important because she was such an obvious choice to join him. Other people could step into her other assignment.

Thinking of her other assignment brought an unbidden image of Chuck into her mind. She sighed. Yet something else that had changed in the past six months.

In her quieter moments, she found herself fantasizing about what it would be like to tell Chuck that she was ready to date him for real. She had an image of the wonderful, joyous smile that would fill his face. The image never failed to bring a matching smile to her face, one of those rare, ear-to-ear grins that were all too rare in any life, but especially in an agent's life.

She continued to struggle to push those kinds of thoughts of Chuck from her mind. She had been down this road before: the moments of daydreaming were always shattered when reality came crashing back in, leaving her feeling more empty than before, knowing they could never be more than what they already were.

She was sworn to protect Chuck. Allowing herself to pursue her feelings meant distractions, which meant compromising her protection and endangering Chuck and herself. She couldn't condone that on a professional or a personal level.

But how she longed to see that smile. She sighed.

She realized that only made the idea of going with Bryce more sensible. Nobody at the agency would blame her for leaving her current assignment to go undercover with her old partner. Not only would it help her career, but it was a clean exit from a situation growing more and more unmanageable. More and more dangerous.

But how the thought of leaving him hurt.

The door to the room opened without a knock; in strolled Bryce with a basket full of food and a stack of neatly folded clothes. He gave her a confident smile in greeting, his gladness to see her shining in his eyes.

She smiled in return, appreciating both his gestures. Her smile was genuine and friendly, but it certainly nothing like an ear-to-ear grin.

**Scene ****XXVIII ****– Casa Bartowski, Kitchen**

"Good morning!" Ellie greeted her brother cheerfully.

Chuck grunted as he trudged grumpily across the kitchen, grabbing a bowl, a spoon, and a box of cereal from various cabinets and drawers.

"Nice," she replied. "That's the best greeting you got?"

"This morning, it is."

"Well, you never were a morning person."

As he joined her at the kitchen table, Chuck flashed back to something Sarah once said, an ironic grin coming to his face. "Depends on the morning." The flashback was bittersweet in light of the current situation.

Ellie simply rolled her eyes and went back to her magazine.

He had to push aside a rather large binder and a stack of magazines to find room for the box of cereal and his bowl before sitting. "Whatcha doing?" he asked.

Her girlish side emerged; Ellie beamed at the question, obviously eager to share. "Trying to figure out where I want to have our wedding."

Her grin was infectious. "What are the candidates?" he asked.

"Well, no specific locations yet; I'm still thinking about the types of weddings. There's the church wedding, but neither of us is particularly religious, so that's probably out. There's always the beach wedding, or a destination wedding. Or maybe we can rent out a place."

Chuck poured the cereal, then realized he forgot the milk. Getting up, he asked, "What, like Il Cielo?" The pair had attended a beautiful wedding at the Italian restaurant for a mutual friend a couple of years ago.

Ellie sighed. "I wish. Our budget is a little more limited than that." That only made sense; the parents of the bride weren't around to help fund the occasion, and both Ellie and Devon still carried med school loans. Not to mention that Chuck wasn't exactly able to contribute heavily.

He poured the milk. Soon, all he could hear was his sister flipping through magazine pages and the crunching in his mouth.

In the relative silence, his mind wandered back to Carina and Sarah. The two represented the classic apples versus oranges decision. Carina was a sure thing and a one-night stand. Sarah was not a sure thing, in any sense of the term, but she would be part of a relationship.

He stifled a chuckle. He never thought he'd find himself in a situation where Sarah was the gamble and Carina was the safe bet.

His heart told him that he should hold out for Sarah, and his heart was normally something he could trust. But he had never been involved with a government agent before, either. As he knew all too well, that threw a whole different level of complication into the equation, one that his heart might not be prepared to handle.

Chuck watched his sister happily thumb through bridal magazine articles. It had been a remarkable turn-around for her and Devon; in the space of a couple of weeks, the couple had gone from being in the midst of a serious fight that threatened to break them up to being engaged.

Maybe it was always darkest before the dawn. Ellie certainly couldn't have envisioned being engaged two weeks ago; things turned around so quickly. Maybe the same could happen for Sarah and him.

It warmed his heart to see his sister so happy. He wondered if he would ever be that happy, or that comfortably in love.

Taking another bite of cereal, Chuck went back to contemplating apples and oranges and decisions with no obvious answers.

**Scene ****XXIX ****– Merida**

Sarah wandered the streets of Merida wearing the outfit that Bryce assembled for her in the market. She wore a white sleeveless T-shirt, a pair of olive green Capri pants and a pair of sandals. It wasn't the cutest outfit, but it was inconspicuous, far more so than her wrinkled suit or her cocktail dress would have been.

After finishing breakfast and cleaning up a little, the pair had decided to split up to save time: Bryce needed to find a tux, and Sarah needed to find a dress. Because alterations might be necessary and time was limited, this task needed to take top priority.

The lady running the front desk at the hacienda had suggested a shop for Sarah that was about a twelve-block walk. Again, Sarah couldn't have scripted a more perfect distance: the store was close enough that it wasn't worth taking a taxi, giving her the chance to stretch her legs and explore the town a little.

The low buildings alternated between those that were well-kept and brightly painted and those that were long overdue for upkeep. The natives of Merida wandered the streets going about their daily business, the state of their dress varying nearly as much as the state of buildings she passed.

Turning right per the directions, Sarah suddenly found herself on a small, narrow street that had been converted into a walking mall. She walked past several higher-end shops, including a shoe boutique that she inspected for a moment. She would want to return there after selecting a dress.

Spotting the recommended store ahead on the right, Sarah made her way up the street and inspected the establishment through the front window. It was a small shop, so the selection might not be as varied as some others, but the owner was also apparently a seamstress of some talent. Hopefully the owner could be persuaded to make any needed alterations quickly.

Sarah entered the shop through the open door; an elderly woman sat in the back of the shop, working a needle and thread through a black dress that appeared to be similar to the one Sarah wore the previous night. The woman gave Sarah a casual nod before returning to her alterations.

Finding a rack of dresses in her size, she started searching for a backless dress. After a moment of searching, she found a sexy azure dress that would highlight the color of her eyes beautifully. She tried to picture the expression that would appear on Chuck's face when he saw it, the way his eyes would widen when he... _Wait, what?! _

She almost blushed when she realized what she was doing. So much for putting thoughts of Chuck out of her head.

Sarah wondered how many other things she did because of Chuck without realizing it. She replaced the blue dress on the rack and half-heartedly began examining the other dresses, slipping the hangars along the circular metal rod without really seeing any of the outfits.

_All the more reason to get out of Los Angeles, _she thought. _He's affecting you more than you suspected, which makes it even more dangerous to stay._

Her heart immediately protested the thought.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered aloud. Her head knew she was right. She started a second pass through the dresses, considering the matter closed.

Her heart, continuing to rebel, short-circuited her focus by recalling the image of Chuck leaving the Weinerlicious the other day. She saw the comfortable, trusting smile on his face. Then she imagined his face when he found out she wasn't coming back.

Suddenly, the matter was no longer closed.

She aggressively pushed the dress she was holding around the rack. "Damnit!" she said, a little too loudly.

The shopkeeper, noticing Sarah's distress, set down her work and crossed the store. Sarah cursed herself, this time silently, and tried to put aside her emotions, scrambling to assume a cover that would explain her need for a dress that night. She forced a smile as the elderly woman approached.

In a quavering voice, the woman asked Sarah, in Spanish, "Boy trouble?"

Sarah gazed at the seamstress with confused eyes. How could she know?

The shopkeeper returned the gaze with a knowing look, pointing at the base of her own neck.

Sarah was even more confused until she figured out what the woman meant. Sarah's questing fingers quickly found the heart-shaped pendant dangling around her neck.

Her eyes widened. Try as she might, she couldn't recall putting on the necklace earlier that morning.


	10. Pretty Little Mistakes

**Scene XXX – Buy More**

The Buy More employees stood in a straight line in front of the wall of plasma television screens, as if awaiting a military inspection. Big Mike impatiently tapped his foot about ten feet away, looking around the store as if waiting for someone.

Digital watches from three or four employees gave a series of beeps, indicating it was 10 am.

Big Mike exploded, quickly locating Lester in the line. "Where the hell is Jeff?!"

Lester looked confused. "What?!"

"I asked, 'Where the hell is Jeff?'"

Lester looked at Big Mike as if he were nuts. "He's right there," he said, pointing to his left. Sure enough, Jeff stood immediately to the left of Lester.

It was Big Mike's turn to look confused. "Oh. Sorry." He took two steps over to stand in front of Jeff. "Force of habit, what with you being late to every meeting for the last six months." His tone sounded angrier as he tried to recapture his normal demeanor.

His face turned confused again as he examined Jeff. "There's something different about you today." He stared at Jeff suspiciously.

There was certainly something different about Jeff's appearance. His eyes were focused and clear. His shirt was neatly pressed and tucked in. Oddest of all, his hair seemed less … frizzy … than normal.

Big Mike eyed him like a drill sergeant examining a recruit. In a quiet voice that only Jeff, Lester, Chuck and Morgan could hear, he asked, "You shower today?

Jeff nodded.

"You shave?"

Jeff nodded again.

In a disconcerting move, Big Mike put his nose by Jeff's mouth and sniffed. "Your breath doesn't smell like beer."

Looking a bit uncomfortable with Big Mike's nose so close to his mouth, Jeff nodded again.

Big Mike looked puzzled again. Then the answer came to him.

"You got some last night, didn't you," he whispered in Jeff's ear with a bit of a sly smile.

Jeff just grinned.

"About time. Maybe you can teach your buddy Lester a thing or two about women." The smile disappeared as he leaned back to look Jeff in the eye. "Just keep it out of the store."

As Big Mike walked away, Chuck took the opportunity to check the store for Lisa. She wasn't in line; he remembered that it was her day off. It was probably a good thing that she missed that particular exchange. Still, he was now very curious about the date between the two.

Big Mike addressed the group in his usual intense tone. "As you know, Thursday is Valentine's Day. So what does this mean?"

"Hallmark cards with pithy sayings?" Lester asked bitterly.

"Overpriced flowers and stale chocolates?" said another employee.

"Men desperately trying to meet ridiculously high romantic expectations?"

"Commercials trying to convince men they'll get laid if they buy jewelry?" Chuck guessed.

"Wait, it's not a sure thing?" Morgan whispered to him.

"Of course not."

"Crap!"

Big Mike cut them off, shouting, "Wrong!" He reconsidered. "Well, right, but that wasn't what I was talking about. It means a slow stream of male customers buying romantic comedies or mid-sized household appliances in a misguided effort to find an appropriate last-minute gift.

"It also means that any men pathetic enough not to be able to get a date will come here Thursday night looking for fulfillment in the form of overpriced video games, stereo systems and big screen TVs. We're talking sad and lonely men, so depressed over being alone that they can be easily manipulated into a major purchase."

"Always knew you were the hopeless romantic, big guy," Morgan barbed.

"Shut up!"

Morgan tried to look like he was taken aback, but couldn't completely conceal his amusement.

Big Mike finished giving him a dark look before continuing. "We need to set up the store to take advantage. Now, I want to divide you guys into two teams. Anyone who has a date on Valentine's Day, step over here with me. Anyone who doesn't, move over by the wall."

After digesting what Big Mike said, people started moving. When they were finished, everyone in the store stood with Big Mike … except for Lester and Fernando, an overweight freckle-faced employee with a cherubic face and very curly, reddish hair.

Big Mike chuckled. "Wow, I see only two of you were pathetic enough not to be able to get a date." Looking disdainfully at some of the employees in the group around him, he added, "I would have definitely taken the 'over' on that bet."

Lester stared at the floor, obviously embarrassed. Fernando looked surprisingly unbothered.

Big Mike said, "After seeing Lester in action, I'm not surprised to find him alone, but what's your story, Fernando?"

"Actually, sir, my girlfriend has to work on Thursday night. We're celebrating on Friday instead."

Big Mike's expression became impressed. "Anyone who can attract a girlfriend with a face like that must have some serious game. C'mon over here."

Disconcerted by the back-handed compliment, Fernando nevertheless walked across to join the other group. Lester was left standing alone.

"Patel, we need insight into how it must feel to be alone on Valentine's Day. I want you to focus on the soul-crushing depression you must feel knowing that you will be alone on Valentine's Day. Try to think about what you might want to buy to try to temporarily distract yourself from the pain and embarrassment of not being able to get a date. I mean, really try to tap into the…"

Despite everything Lester had done over the time they had worked together, Chuck actually felt a little sorry for the guy. He tried to derail Big Mike. "I don't mean to criticize, but isn't it a bit late to try to capitalize on what's likely to be a pretty small holiday rush? I mean, when people think 'Valentine's Day', Buy More doesn't exactly spring to mind."

Big Mike glared at Chuck. "You do your job, Bartowski, I'll do mine."

Having accomplished his goal, Chuck simply replied. "Gotcha."

"Group 1, we obviously have too many people on our team; we just need three of you." Big Mike tapped three of the employees randomly on the shoulder, grabbing two men and one woman. "Start thinking about what in the Buy More screams out 'Valentine's gift'. Lester, Group 1, I want a list of ideas on my desk in one hour. Bonus points if you come up with a snappy slogan we can put on a banner."

Big Mike paused to glare at his employees one last time before commanding, "Dismissed!" He headed for his office at a quick pace.

The Buy More employees were a bit more leisurely in getting where they needed to go, with the notable exception of Lester, who quickly fled back to the cage. Several of the guys walked up to Jeff, curious about his date with Lisa. Jeff lapped up the attention.

Morgan accompanied Chuck back to the Nerd Herd desk, staring at Chuck accusingly the whole way. Chuck gave him a quizzical glance or two before finally asking, "What?"

"Why did you rescue Lester like that?"

Chuck shrugged. "I didn't like what Big Mike was doing."

"C'mon, after everything that Lester pulled, you weren't enjoying watching him squirm even a little? For crying out loud, you were the guy who taped him hitting on Lisa!"

The pair stopped near the desk; Chuck turned to face Morgan.

"That was different; that was Lester digging his own grave. What Big Mike was doing was wrong."

"Who cares?! After all the crap Lester's pulled: the arrogance, the insults, the blackmail … he deserves to be taken down a few pegs."

"Wrong is wrong, Morgan. It doesn't matter whether the guy deserves it or not."

"Wow, you are a better person than me."

Chuck stared wisely at his friend. "You do realize that you and I would have been standing over there with Lester if the talk had happened last year. Or the year before that, or the year before that…"

"No need to rub in our collective dating ineptitude."

"So, wouldn't you have wanted somebody to stand up for you if Big Mike was doing that to you?"

Morgan looked unconvinced, but he was starting to give it some serious thought. "I guess."

Chuck smiled, glad that he had finally gotten through to his friend.

"Besides," Morgan continued, "it's not like Lester would ever change."

"What's that?"

"It's not like anything Big Mike could say or do would change the type of person Lester is. Or any of us, for that matter. We've all been doing what we've been doing for so long that we've become conditioned to being a certain way. After long enough, it becomes impossible for a person to change."

Chuck's mind immediately jumped to Sarah. In order for the two of them to date, Sarah would need to get past years and years of CIA training and conditioning. He hadn't really considered that at all.

Would she be able to do it?

Morgan said, "I don't know, man. What do you think? Can people really change that much?"

_I'll find out soon enough_, Chuck thought. _I'll find out soon enough._

**Scene XXXI – Casey's Apartment**

After his short shift, Chuck reported to Casey's a bit nervously. Casey was a bit unpredictable when he got ticked off, and Carina's stunt the previous night likely had him in a bad mood.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Casey and Carina sitting civilly in the living room of Casey's apartment. A focused Casey was using the communications array to file his daily report. A bored Carina was paging through the contents of a manila file folder.

"Hey," Chuck greeted the pair.

"Bartowski," Casey responded perfunctorily.

"What's going on?"

Carina gave Chuck a disgusted look. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Her expression brightened. "Although, now that you're here…"

Casey turned around and directed an icy stare at Carina, who for the first time since Chuck had known her, managed to look meek. "…absolutely nothing will happen," she finished lamely.

Chuck looked back and forth between the two agents. On one hand, he was curious what in the world Casey could possibly have said to tame the mercurial agent. It was obvious that serious threats were involved.

On the other hand, he was really tired of Casey playing such a large role in defining the boundaries of his love life.

He went and sat down next to Carina on the couch, deliberately sitting closer to Carina than he would have normally. A small, sly smile crept across her face as she leaned over the folder in her lap.

Casey grunted, and not in an amused way.

"What's that?" Chuck asked Carina, as much to rile Casey further as from any real interest.

"Oh, just an old file of my unsolved cases. Having nothing else to do," she glared at Casey, "I thought I'd go back through them to keep the details fresh in my head."

She peeled back a page of a report, revealing a 5x7 glossy picture of a balding man with a deep tan and an incredibly white set of teeth.

Chuck felt his eyes narrow and cross slightly as a flash of images began.

_An image of an eagle perched on a tall tree._

_The pages of a dossier on the man, including suspected aliases, accomplices, and crimes._

_The tanned man walking a red carpet, a beautiful young blond woman on his arm, waving to photographers with a huge grin on his face._

_A series of images, likely taken by paparazzi, of the man flashing huge grins at various functions around Los Angeles and Hollywood._

_The balding man speaking from a podium in front of a warehouse at the Port of Los Angeles, giving a speech to several hundred people seated in neatly arranged folding chairs._

_A posh Hollywood restaurant: the man shared lunch with a square-jawed gentleman in an expensive suit and neatly-coiffed hair._

_A video of a shipping container being offloaded from a large ship._

_A coded message with a translation underneath describing how a particular drug shipment is coming to Los Angeles._

_Surveillance of the man, obviously angry, walking with several men carrying what looks like a body wrapped in trash bags._

_The eagle perched on the tall tree._

Without really thinking, Chuck babbled, "Jaime Veron, a.k.a. Jamie Greenwood, a.k.a. Jamie Limelight for his love of the spotlight. South American drug smuggler of indeterminate origin; claims to be a shipping magnate. Known for his love of being seen in the highest social circles even while being a major drug supplier to southern California. Top ten on the DEA's domestic most-wanted list."

Casey, realizing what had just happened, groaned audibly.

Carina stared at Chuck with new appreciation. "Number three, actually. Wow, what are you, some kind of idiot savant?" she asked breathlessly.

Casey interjected, "Well, you got the 'idiot' part right."

Sorting through the flash, Chuck asked, "What, this guy hangs out with movie stars and you guys can't nail him?"

"We've got almost nothing on him. I thought I had him dead-to-rights about a year ago; we received a tip from an informer and intercepted one of his shipping containers at the dock. There was nothing in there but textiles."

"So, why not just stake this guy out?"

She grimaced. "That was the third time the DEA conducted a surprise inspection on one of Veron's shipping containers, and the third time we came up completely empty. The whole thing turned political. Drew Jennings stepped in to apologize on behalf of the Port of Los Angeles and to ensure that the DEA would cause no further embarrassment." Carina placed a bitter emphasis on the last word. "We haven't been able to get any operations approved on Veron ever since."

"Did you say, 'Drew Jennings'?" Chuck asked weakly. Drew Jennings was the U.S. Representative from the 46th Congressional district. He appeared with Veron in one of the pictures, and there was additional information on him in the flash.

Carina didn't appear to hear him; she was too busy processing what had just happened. "Wait, you guys have intel on Veron?!" she asked in an exasperated voice, looking back and forth between the two men. "We make requests on our most-wanted lists to you guys on a weekly basis; how come we haven't seen your file?"

Casey cleared his throat, causing the other two to turn and look at him. "Excuse us for a minute," he said to Carina with deliberate calmness.

"Casey, if you guys have intel…"

"Carina, outside. I need to have a word with Bartowski. We'll talk about it later."

"You better believe we will." She stalked angrily out of the apartment into the courtyard, slamming the door behind her.

Given the controlled way that Casey had spoken, Chuck was well-prepared when the outburst came. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Casey asked Chuck intensely.

"What? I saw something, I flashed."

"Trying to impress your new girl is more like it."

"New girl?! You've got to be kidding."

"Oh, I heard all about your little evening together."

Chuck squared his shoulders. "Assuming she told you the truth, you heard about how I turned her down when she tried to get me into bed. Something you could learn something from, I might add."

"Well, seems like we've grown a pair. Might want to be careful when you use them, or you might lose them."

Casey had threatened Chuck so many times that he found it easy to shrug it off. "Oh, please, you…"

"Just stop. We've got bigger fish to fry. I need to go call General Beckman so we can figure out how to repair the damage."

"Damage?! What damage?"

"You revealed Intersect intel to an unauthorized DEA agent. Right now, I bet dollars to donuts Carina is on the phone with her boss, who will soon be calling Beckman to raise hell about why that intel wasn't passed along to them. Not to mention that you let her see you flash. See any problems there?"

Chuck's skin suddenly grew clammy. There were definitely a couple of problems there.

He had screwed up in a big way.

**Scene XXXII – Merida, Hacienda, Room 12**

Bryce sat in the wicker chair in the corner, finishing a second review of Moreno and Varela's conversation. He had been unable to glean much new information from the additional reviews.

Moreno and Varela were clearly smart enough to talk in general terms to avoid saying anything incriminating. However, he did learn that the person they were meeting was traveling in from the west by car, something he missed the first time through. It wasn't much, but an agent never knew what might turn out to be important.

He was anxious to have Sarah listen to the footage as well. He had never been as strong with languages as Sarah, so he was willing to concede that he might have missed some of the subtleties in Spanish. The second pair of ears would be useful, and there had been a couple of words he wasn't certain he translated correctly.

As the conversation drew to a close, he stopped the playback and set the headphones on top of both the receiver and the gun on the small table next to him. Taking a break, he leaned back and scanned the limited space of the room, smiling when he saw the neat pile of Sarah's belongings in the opposite corner of the room. It was good to have her back at his side, for all kinds of reasons.

Bryce was frazzled. Ever since the day that he had received the order to destroy the Intersect and take its data, he couldn't trust anyone ... except Chuck, and that did him precious little good day-to-day. He couldn't trust his fellow agents, he could trust Graham, and he couldn't even trust Sarah.

After spending months in a coma, Bryce had awakened to find himself in a CIA detention facility, barely able to remember anything about his time in the overseas clinic. By some miracle, he had ended up with Chuck and Sarah. Those had been the only times when he was around people that he could trust to any degree … but not enough to be able to relax and confide in them.

It had only gotten worse after he left Los Angeles . Living every day without anyone he could trust at all had proven exhausting. Spending his time chasing down Fulcrum, Bryce literally had to completely distrust every person he came into contact with. He could never let his guard down.

When his missions were more traditional, he at least had some moments where he was able to relax. When he was in safe territory, he could retreat into the comfortable anonymity of his cover as a road warrior bank executive. He didn't have those moments any more.

However, if Sarah joined him, he'd have somebody to watch his back. He could bounce ideas off of her. He could decompress.

He could trust her.

Agents couldn't afford to trust other agents, so they never did. They learned to insulate themselves, even from their partners. It wasn't personal; it was about survival.

However, if Sarah came along with him, their situation would change those rules. They would be deep under cover, so much so that trusting each other would be paramount.

It was a large leap of faith for an agent, but after seeing Sarah in Los Angeles, Bryce knew he could trust her. If she was Fulcrum, she would have eliminated him or captured Chuck. And once they were off the reservation, they were accountable only to themselves.

Bryce was frazzled; he couldn't do this on his own. He needed somebody he could trust. He needed Sarah, and he intended to convince her to join him.

Luckily, he knew how she worked. He knew what buttons to push and how hard to push them.

He had started the process when he shadowed her in the airport. Letting himself be seen was just part of the game: Sarah had a competitive spirit, and she loved to win. When she won, she relaxed. She enjoyed herself. She laughed.

Some of his efforts were a bit transparent. Sarah was sharp enough to pick up on just how many things he had arranged more for fun than for practicality, but that didn't matter. The thought was what mattered: reminding her how well he knew what she loved.

Tonight, they would attack their mission with their usual skill, and the pair would come out on top, as they always did. Their service record as a team was unmatched because of consummate professionalism and their perfectly complementary natures. They were terrific agents when they were apart, but they were absolutely devastating when working together.

Sarah couldn't deny any of that, and as calculating and dedicated as she was, her sense of duty would win out.

Even if that didn't happen, he was confident he could rekindle her feelings for him, given a couple of days. The process had already started; he had seen her wandering the room in a distracted daze earlier as she got ready to head into town. He recognized that look from just before they got together: she was processing her feelings on a subconscious level, probably unaware that she was thinking about him.

One way or another, be it her sense of duty or her feelings for him, he knew he could convince her to join him.

The bolt on the door turned. Lost in his thoughts of Sarah, Bryce awkwardly went for the gun on the table next to him, knocking the receiver to the ground in his haste. The receiver shattered as it hit the ground. He cursed himself under his breath, but forced himself to focus his eyes and his aim on the door.

There was a long pause, and the door burst open. Sarah used the door jamb as cover as she pointed her gun into the room, focusing on Bryce until she recognized him. She adjusted her aim slightly.

Bryce let the barrel of the gun drop, setting his piece back on the table. He leaned forward and looked regretfully at the remnants of the receiver on the floor. "Damnit!" he cursed.

Sarah didn't move; she stayed behind the cover, keeping the gun pointed in his direction.

His heart stopped. Had he misjudged her?

Then it came to him. "Chocolate syrup," he said. Sarah relaxed and put her gun away, stepping back outside to retrieve two shopping bags.

Back when the two were partners, the two used the code phrase to indicate the two were alone. There had been a situation where a concealed man had a gun trained on him, and he had been forced to try to use her eyes to warn her. The gunman had noticed; had Sarah not heard the scuff of his shoe against a floor vent in the hotel room, she wouldn't have been walking into the room to join Bryce now.

She set the pair bags on the bed, looking down at the useless scattering of electronics. "Smooth move, Bryce," she said teasingly.

Despite his embarrassment, he smiled. "Yeah, not one of my finer moments," he replied drily. As he dropped to one knee to start to clean up the mess, he fervently hoped he had gotten everything he needed from the conversation: Sarah wasn't going to get a chance to listen to it.


	11. Mission Prep

**Scene XXXIII – Casey's Apartment**

"Perhaps my instructions were unclear, Intersect?" the general asked Chuck pointedly. "The team was to remain inactive while Carina is assigned to your detail?"

"I can't control when I flash, General," Chuck answered.

"But I assume you can control when you randomly blurt out things like a moron?"

"Not as much as you'd think," Casey grumbled.

Ignoring Casey, Chuck thought about this for a moment, trying to sort through his past flashes.

When he was tied up in a warehouse with Sarah, he had flashed on the device that turned out to be transporting Bryce. However, that had been a weird flash where the information was incomplete. There really wasn't anything to blurt out. That didn't help.

There had been at least two other times, both with Bryce around, where he was able to control the outbursts. In the elevator at the CIA facility, he was able to avoid revealing he knew about Fulcrum to Tommy. Later, in that very apartment, he had not babbled what he learned about Operation Sand Wall.

More and more, he realized that he was capable of controlling the outbursts. When he had discovered the counterfeit money on Lon Kirk's boat, he had largely contained what the flash revealed. When he saw Victor Federov in a hotel bar, he had completely restrained the results of the flash to avoid outing himself and Sarah to the swarm of mob members around them.

He realized he did have the capability to control his outbursts; he just hadn't mastered how to do it yet. He said as much to the general.

"I just got off the phone with the director of the DEA," the general replied. "Carina filled him in on what you told her. He's asking some questions that are a little difficult for me to answer. What am I supposed to tell him?"

"I don't know, General. But I am sorry."

General Beckman seemed a little surprised by the outright apology. Maybe she didn't get those very often from her agents, or maybe she didn't think Chuck had it in him. Either way, the response seemed to moderate, though certainly not eliminate, her anger.

"Luckily, Carina likely has no way of knowing about the existence of the Intersect. Nobody in the DEA has any knowledge of the system; their information was incorporated without their knowledge."

Casey said, "Yeah, but Carina's a snoop. She knows a lot of things that she shouldn't."

The general frowned. "Keep an eye on her. If she gives any indication that she knows about the Intersect, we may need to take steps."

"Roger that."

Chuck shivered. He was still amazed how quickly things could turn deadly serious. All Carina was doing was paging through one of her file folders, and suddenly a general was talking about taking steps.

Beckman gave an exasperated sigh. "All right, Bartowski. Fill me in on the flash, every last detail. I need to find a way to mend fences with the DEA and somehow explain how you knew about all of this."

Chuck gathered himself, trying to push thoughts of Carina out of his mind. He stared to the side of the monitor for a long moment until his thoughts were organized, then looked back to the general.

"The flash was caused by a photograph of Jaime Veron. In Los Angeles, he's known under the alias Jamie Greenwood, nicknamed Jamie Limelight because of his love of being in the spotlight. If there's an A-list party or event, he likes to be there."

"The DEA has conducted four operations to try to catch Veron smuggling drugs from South America into Los Angeles, although Carina is only aware of three of them. All four operations came up completely empty. His elusiveness led to him becoming a permanent fixture on the DEA's Most Wanted list."

"After the fourth failed operation, Drew Jennings, the U.S. Representative from the California 46th District, publically apologized to Veron. The Port of Los Angeles lies in Jenning's district, and he has helped Veron in his efforts to become a more highly regarded shipping magnate. From what we can tell Veron still doesn't import all that much in the way of legitimate goods; it's just a weak front.

"Since then, Jennings has used his position on the U.S. House Permanent Committee on Intelligence to squash three subsequent requests by the DEA to investigate Veron, including one where the DEA spent nearly three months getting a mole close enough to Veron to gather significant evidence of his dealings. The mole was subsequently executed by Veron and his men."

Casey mused, "Odd that a U.S. Representative to take that kind of interest in a single businessman."

The general replied, "Not necessarily. Politicians don't like the implication that drugs pass into their district, especially through a large port like Los Angeles."

Chuck said, "Well, Jennings hasn't forgotten about Veron. The two have been spotted having lunch or dinner meetings on three separate occasions, and Jennings arranged for Veron to give a speech when the Los Angeles Harbor opened a new set of docks designed to speed the off-loading of cargo."

"While Veron's social calendar may be interesting, that really doesn't seem to matter here. What about the drugs?"

"The DEA was close to getting to Veron because he had a huge amount of cash flow that he had no way to explain. However, his operations were airtight enough that they could never catch him in the act, and the money trail dried up about four months ago. Either business got real bad in a hurry, or he found a way to launder it that the DEA couldn't detect.

"Also, the DEA captured two of Veron's men, about three months apart from each other. Both were willing to strike deals to verify the drug operations in exchange for certain considerations. Before the deals were finalized, both were assassinated in their jail cells at secure facilities."

The general said, "I can see why the DEA wants this guy so badly: he's given them a series of black eyes." She paused to think for a moment. "Let me get an analyst or two on this and see if there's a way to throw a bone to the DEA. We'll meet again in one hour. Go ahead and bring Carina in for the next briefing." She signed off.

Chuck felt slightly nauseous. He had managed to trigger a messy situation by his simple inability to control the verbal outburst at the end of his flash. If Carina happened to know about the Intersect... He collapsed on the couch, staring blankly into space.

Casey opened the door to the apartment; Carina was sitting on the edge of the fountain. Her posture and movements conveyed her irritation as she walked over to stare Casey dead in the eye from close range. "Let me guess; the file was lost in the last twenty minutes," she said.

"Actually, no. We're getting analysts to do a bit more research; we're to be briefed in an hour."

Carina looked a little surprised at that, but that didn't prevent her irritation from returning. "Good," she said indignantly. She pushed past Casey into the apartment; Casey shut the door.

Noticing Chuck's vacant expression and defeated demeanor, she asked Casey, "What's with him?"

"He just got chewed out by General Beckman for revealing what he knew about Veron. He'll be fine."

Casey turned and headed for the kitchen, so he missed it when Carina's expression softened a bit as she regarded Chuck.

**Scene XXXIV – Merida, Hacienda, Room 12**

Sarah examined the map of the estancia where the COPEI fundraiser would be held from the comfort of the wicker chair. The sprawling, two-story main building was located high on a hillside above Ejido, less than ten miles away from their current location.

"What do you think?" Bryce asked, reclined against a stack of pillows piled against the headboard of the bed.

"I hope we won't need to leave in a hurry," she replied. "We'd be in real trouble."

Bryce nodded his agreement as he stood up and crossed the room.

The tricky thing about the location is that there wouldn't be a good escape route, should one become necessary. The house was accessed from the main road using what appeared to be a long, winding driveway, at least two miles long.

There was also a narrow road leading up to the cell phone tower perched on top of the hill, but that was pretty much a dead end because of the thick forest behind it. Still, if they turned west at the tower, they could wind their way back to the main road - if they could find a way to safely navigate the woods.

Bryce placed his left hand on the back of her chair as he leaned over the map. "I'm guessing that they'll valet park the cars here, he said, pointing to a small side road forking out from the driveway a couple hundred yards from the house. "That means we won't have easy access to the car, so any escape likely means a nice little three-mile run back to the main road. The nearest cover is the trees here and here," he added as he pointed out two different locations on the map.

"Well, let's just make sure that isn't necessary." Sarah said drily. "I'm not a big fan of sprinting through trees at night."

Bryce smiled. "What, like in Panama?" Early last year, the two had been conducting surveillance on a rebel encampment in the jungle. Trying to get a little closer, the pair had startled a small flock of birds, which attracted the attention of the sentries. The alarm was quickly raised, and the pair had no choice but to flee through the dark forest at top speed – on foot.

It had taken four exhausting hours to elude their pursuit. They were nearly captured several times, lucky to escape with only the cuts and bruises from taking countless branches to their faces as they fled.

She grinned, "Exactly like Panama. I really don't need another night like that."

"That was a tight one, that's for sure." He chuckled fondly at the memory.

Sarah began to scrutinize two other pages, each depicting the interior design of a floor of the building. She scribbled notes in pencil as she tried to determine the function of each room.

While what she moved onto was important, her ulterior motive was that she really didn't want to reminisce right now. Reminiscing took her out of the safety of planning for the mission and led her back into wondering which assignment she wanted to choose. With the upcoming mission that night, she wanted that as far from her mind as possible.

Hell, she wanted it as far as possible for other reasons, too. She was still shaken by just how much Chuck was affecting her without her realizing it.

"So, have we found out who owns the site?" she asked.

"Ramon Martinez, a prominent COPEI booster. We don't really know much about the guy, other than he donates a lot of money to COPEI. Could just be a party member that's hosting the party."

"Any pictures?"

"You forget; we're deep under cover down here, so it's not quite as simple as phoning an analyst. I had to bribe a guy at the city planning department more than he makes in a year to get my hands on these blueprints and the name of the home owner. We'll have to search out Martinez at the party."

Bryce leaned in the slightest bit closer for no apparent reason; Sarah suddenly found herself hypersensitive to his every movement. She was probably being paranoid, but the last thing she needed right now was Bryce trying anything.

_Wow_, she thought. _You are all over the place._

She suddenly needed a little distance between them.

Handing the blueprints to Bryce, she got up and walked over to the dresser. Bryce followed her with slightly disappointed eyes.

She popped a grape from a basket of fruit into her mouth and poured herself a glass of water from a clear pitcher. "Have you been able to make any guesses as to which of the rooms might be an office or a study? A place where Moreno and Varela are likely to meet?" she asked, taking her eyes of the glass for the briefest of moments.

Forced to focus, Bryce regarded the maps of the building. "I really don't think they would do it on the first floor. Too much of a chance of somebody seeing the people go into the same room."

Finishing a sip of water, Sarah said, "I agree. If they meet upstairs, there are three different stairwells they could take: the two on either side of the foyer, and the servants' staircase in the kitchen. Heck, Moreno and the mystery guest could both be smuggled up that back staircase."

Bryce stood up, pacing as he thought. "That could make things tough, especially if they close off access to the upstairs."

"Well, we'll just have to figure it out, won't we?"

"We always do," he said with a familiar smile.

_Damnit._ Even the simplest little comment led to an opening for him.

She really wanted to tell him to stop, but she didn't know how to do it without having it lead to a larger conversation, one with the questions that she wasn't ready to answer. If she did that, the likely result was that they both would be off their game that night.

No, she needed to find a way to push through it without having an emotional confrontation.

She desperately searched for a safe topic. Cover story? No, that was too easy to turn flirtatious. Equipment list?

That might be safe.

"Let's go over our equipment list for tonight. What kind of firepower do we have?"

With a smug grin, Bryce walked over to a large black duffel bag in the corner. "Well, with a little bit of searching, I managed to secure this for you." He came back and offered her a Sig Sauer 228 pistol.

Damn the man. He had gone and found her favorite gun, probably because he saw her look distastefully at his spare Glock 22 that she had borrowed that morning.

She couldn't help but test the balance in her hand and sight the gun along the barrel; it was a beautiful piece.

Sarah sighed as she let the hand holding the gun to drop to her side. Apparently no topic was going to be safe. Bryce was working every angle.

**Scene XXXV – Casey's Apartment**

"Before we start, General, I'd like to say one thing," Carina said.

Casey groaned. This hadn't been one of his better days.

"Go ahead," General Beckman allowed.

"I think it's bul… bogus … that this intel has been withheld from the NSA. This is no small-time smuggler; this is Jaime Veron, one of the top drug smugglers in the country. The fact that the NSA has…"

The general interrupted, "Agent Carina, let me ask you something. Do you think a general has better things to do with her time than to be chewed out by an agent?"

Carina's stance straightened. "Yes, ma'am."

"Yet here you are, doing it anyway. Your director already told me exactly what the two of you think; I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to it all over again."

"Yes, ma'am."

The general forced herself to calm down. "However, today is your lucky day. Our analysts have discovered that Veron will be attending a function tonight, and we have arranged for the three of you to attend as well."

Carina immediately brightened.

Casey immediately protested. "What?! But General…"

"Casey, this opportunity is too important to pass up. It turns out Veron will be attending a party held by Drew Jennings at his estate in Huntington Beach."

Carina looked confused until she looked at Chuck and Casey, whose faces showed that they understood. "So, you think there's more to Jennings and Veron than just the apology at the port?"

"We're not entirely certain," the general said, "but I'm sure you understand that it's important that we find out if there is a larger connection."

The agents silently nodded their agreement.

General Beckman continued, "Ground rules for tonight, Agent Carina. And to save time, I'll tell you now that they are non-negotiable should you wish to remain involved."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Number one: Casey is the mission leader. You obey what he says, when he says it. If he says abort, you will abort. If he says cluck like a chicken, you will cluck like a chicken. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Number two: this is a surveillance mission. I don't need to tell you that Jennings is powerfully connected, so should you disobey any of Casey's orders or embarrass this agency in any way tonight, you'll be looking for drugs in the bags of migrant workers on the Mexican border in the morning. Clear enough?"

"Crystal clear, General."

"We've gotten three names added to the guest list: Chuck and Carina Carmichael, a married couple, along with Chuck's older brother Casey."

"That's a whole lot of C's in the names," Chuck observed.

The general didn't seem to care. "Tonight is about surveillance, and only surveillance. Let's do this right."

"Not much chance of that," Casey muttered just before the general signed off.

Carina whooped, "We're going to get that S.O.B." She looped her arm around Chuck's. "I feel like celebrating. Want to consummate our marriage?"

"Carina!" Casey said warningly.

She let go of Chuck's arm in a hurry. "Just joking. Sheesh."

Chuck, for one, was pretty sure she wasn't joking.

Casey said, "We've got a lot of planning to do. But one thing before we do."

"What's that?" Chuck asked.

"Carina: cluck like a chicken."

Chuck gaped at Casey.

"Oh, you are so going to pay for this," Carina said bitterly, folding her arms across her chest.

"One time: cluck like a chicken."

Her eyes aflame with anger, she unlocked her jaw just enough to emit, "Bwawk. Bwawk."

Casey grinned. "Looks like my day is finally looking up."


	12. Get This Party Started

**Scene XXXVI – Casa Bartowski, Chuck's Room**

Chuck had never felt so unsettled entering a mission. Granted, he didn't have a ton of experience in the area, but this one had a particularly unsettling feel to it.

After the general's briefing, the team had spent half an hour going over the guest list for the party and another half an hour studying the layout of the house. Then they spent almost an hour trying to cobble together a plan. The last part had turned out to be a fiasco.

Casey was determined to plan out every last detail, in part because that was his nature and in part because he wanted Carina to be kept under control. Carina was determined to go in and wing it, in part because that was her nature and in part because that she would give her more freedom from Casey. Things had degenerated rapidly.

Chuck's instincts were to step in and try to broker some type of compromise, but he really didn't want to get between Casey and Carina and he certainly did not want to choose sides.

Besides, he had done enough already. He desperately hoped the mission would work out; he felt guilty that the team was going into the field at all, and the struggles the team was having putting together a coherent plan didn't help him feel any better about what he had set into motion.

In the end, Casey had put his foot down and told Carina what the plan was, but Carina's attitude had clearly showed that she was going to do exactly what she felt like doing once she set foot in that house. Frustrated, the three had tensely separated about an hour earlier to get dressed for the party.

This was going to be an interesting mission, and very likely not in a good way.

He checked himself in the mirror and adjusted his tuxedo tie for the fourteenth time. While he felt like he was getting pretty good at tying the thing properly, tonight he couldn't seem to get it to sit quite right. Giving up, he checked the clock, sighed, and left to meet the others.

Carina impatiently waited for the pair in the courtyard, her normally straight coppery-colored hair styled into wavy lines that gently framed her stiff countenance. Her arms were folded, her right hand tightly gripping a black clutch purse that matched her black cocktail dress.

Coincidentally, Casey entered the courtyard at the same time as Chuck. Noticing Casey's body language, Chuck quickly corrected himself – it wasn't coincidence at all. Casey, wearing the same classic black-and-white tuxedo combination as Chuck, had the demeanor of a man who didn't want to be where he needed to be. He had likely waited for Chuck to avoid having any more debates with Carina.

Carina's demeanor was similar; she completely ignored Casey's arrival, instead choosing to direct a scintillating smile at Chuck. "Don't you look scrumptious," she gushed as she walked over to him, a hungry overtone coloring her voice. She reached out to straighten his tie, and then pulled a piece of lint from his jacket.

Well, apparently that part of the mission prep hadn't changed with the switch from Sarah to Carina. The gesture was comfortably familiar and off-putting at the same time.

More than anything, he wished Sarah were there to help calm him, and the rest of the team for that matter.

"You look really good in a tux," Carina whispered quietly, shooting him a mysterious little smile as she made one last adjustment to his tie.

Chuck couldn't properly appreciate the compliment, as his stomach was currently engaged with doing flip-flops because of his nervousness. "Thanks," he managed to mutter. "You look just…" He couldn't come up with a way to finish the thought, but she seemed pleased with the implicit compliment.

Lacking an excuse to ignore Casey any longer, Carina turned and stood to Chuck's side. She started eying Casey warily, and he returned the favor.

Chuck, becoming more uncomfortable with each passing second, awkwardly suggested, "Well, shall we get going?" The two nodded, each continuing to stare at the other until Carina broke eye contact as she turned to head to the car.

The way that the planning had gone, Chuck was half-surprised that anyone had thought to obtain a car for the evening. Casey's prejudices had shown, as he had secured a shiny black Cadillac sedan that Chuck thought would have suited an elderly couple far better than the three of them. As sexy as Carina looked in her outfit, she looked especially out-of-place in the front seat of that car.

Looking to distract himself from the mission, he spent a great deal of time thinking about her during the 45-minute drive to Huntington Beach.

After their first meeting, he had written her off as nothing more than a maverick DEA agent who really didn't care about anyone else. But in many ways, she was a lot like Sarah: she had obviously suppressed a large part of her personality in the name of her job.

In addition, he had found himself forced to do some of the same things to keep from revealing what Carina couldn't know, which made him feel closer both to her and to Sarah. He understood more about their situations now.

Still, he was curious why Carina so relentlessly offered herself up to him. While he had done the same for Sarah, albeit making a far different kind of offer, he genuinely cared for her. He found it hard to understand how Carina might be attracted to him in a similar fashion, especially given her repeated comments about how boring she found his life.

So, was sex simply how Carina overcompensated for not being able to get close to anyone? Or was there some larger game she was playing, with sex as her primary weapon?

He thought about that most of the drive, and was unable to come up with a good answer.

**Scene XXXVII – Estancia Entrance, Route 4, Ejido, Venezuela**

Sarah eased the beautiful silver BMW Z8 convertible onto the long driveway of the estate. She sighed. Bryce had obviously continued his efforts to win her over by finding the sporty car, and she certainly wasn't complaining. However, such a car was meant to be driven with the top down on a beautiful night like tonight, and the two agents could hardly arrive at the party with windswept hair.

Still, like so many other moments, this one was a lot of fun.

A bit rebelliously, she threw the car into a higher gear and sped up the drive, allowing the roar of the engine to echo back at them as they passed through a copse of trees. Bryce looked like he wanted to say something, but held back.

She wondered whether he was holding back because he was recruiting her. She didn't like that idea. "What?" she asked, a bit irritably.

"Nothing," he smiled. "It's … it's just good to have you around again."

She glanced over at him to try to detect whether he was covering up anything. As far as she could tell, he was being genuine, but he was always good at switching gears quickly. Not really knowing what he was thinking, she opted for honesty. "It's good to see you, too," she replied before turning her eyes back to the road.

She had to admit that, as far as the mission went, it did feel good to be with her old partner. Their comfortable teamwork was a sharp contrast to her missions in Los Angeles, where she felt like she always needed to keep one eye on Chuck for his safety, and even on Casey at times. The rapport she had built with Bryce over the years wasn't easily replaced, and she was a little surprised to find how much she missed it.

Sarah pushed thoughts of Bryce aside and slipped into agent mode. The pair had conducted reconnaissance on the site earlier that day using a low-powered telescope from across the valley and had seen nothing to warrant any concern, but they needed to be on the lookout for anything that they might have missed.

As the car whizzed up the hill in the fading light, the pair scanned the property with feigned casualness. There were a scattering of outbuildings along the drive, but they seemed to be relics of the days when the estancia was a fully functioning farm, now either converted into homes or allowed to decay into crumpled heaps. Other than that, there were mainly wide fields and groves of tall trees.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; there didn't appear to be any security outposts or guard patrols. In fact, the only people they saw were an assortment of bustling valets running back up the hill to claim another car to park down a side road. So far, this event looked to be nothing more than a political fundraiser.

The two recapped their plan for the evening as the car finished the ascent to the main house. Bruce and Sarah Wilkinson, potentially big contributors to COPEI, would size up the party before getting to the second level as quickly as possible. That was the likely spot for any clandestine meetings. They would find out what they could, and then make a call on any additional actions depending on the circumstances.

Sarah downshifted as she approached the circle near the front door, momentarily savoring the deepening timbre of the finely tuned engine as the car slowed to a halt. After climbing out, she exchanged the keys for a ticket from a grinning valet. The boy was obviously pleased with the car that had fallen to him; she shot him a knowing grin of her own.

Walking around the car, she brought herself fully into character as she approached her 'husband'. After a quick visual examination, she linked her arm into Bryce's and they ascended the expansive stone staircase. "You've got a little something on your shoulder, honey," she said in conversational tone.

Sure enough, Bryce had picked up a small amount of some white substance on his shoulder. He brushed it off and smiled his thanks as they reached the landing and entered the front doors.

The foyer was flanked by two beautiful curving staircases with wide, sweeping banisters done in white stone. As the plans had indicated, hallways extended out to the left and right. However, guests were obviously supposed to proceed through the elegant archway passing under the balcony where the two staircases met. Bryce guided Sarah that direction with a gentle hand in the small of her back.

"By the way," he whispered in her ear as they passed into the next room, "you look amazing."

Sarah turned her head at an awkward angle to smile a "thank you". She had ended up opting for the azure backless dress that had first caught her eye, and she had to admit that the dress suited her well. Examining herself in the mirror at the hacienda, she had admired the work the seamstress had done in such a short time. The dress highlighted her frame beautifully, and the color made her eyes absolutely pop.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she said, returning the compliment. Bryce looked good in almost anything, but he was devastating in a tuxedo. Focused on remaining in character, she used the opportunity to offer a flirtatious smile that he quickly returned.

Bryce and Sarah stopped at one of the bars, collecting their usual virgin drinks before they started making the rounds. Not having access to the guest list or any type of research slowed them down; it took a fair bit of conversing in Spanish before they managed to pick up anything useful.

A dowdy matron in a dress much too tight for her plump figure was able to point Bruce and Sarah Wilkinson in the direction of Ramon Martinez, the owner of the house. A few minutes of conversation with the very drunk man suggested that he wasn't a person of concern. However, he did inform them that Gustavo Varela was somewhere on the premises, likely upstairs.

Sarah frowned; Bryce and she had agreed that upstairs was the most likely place for Varela to conduct his business with Moreno. Hopefully they weren't too late to eavesdrop.

Excusing themselves, the two made their way back to the bustling kitchen. They meandered in an apparently haphazard fashion, seemingly fascinated by the workings of the kitchen with no destination in mind. The staff soon paid no attention to the pair, and they were able to slip up the back stairway without anyone really noticing.

**Scene XXXVIII - 6383 Turnberry Circle, Huntington Beach**

The home of Representative Jennings was located off a large cul-de-sac in an expensive golf course community. Uniformed valet attendants had set up a station at the end of the driveway, efficiently spiriting away cars as quickly as they arrived.

Chuck was grateful that the team would finally be exiting the car. Nobody had said a word for at least fifteen minutes; the silence had become downright deafening.

As Carina and Chuck slipped out the passenger side, Casey exited and handed the keys to a disappointed-looking attendant who was wistfully eying the Audi that pulled up behind the Cadillac.

Not wanting the boy to find out just how much power was under the hood of the specially modified car, Casey slipped the teen-ager a twenty and said, "Be gentle on the girl, would you?"

The look of disappointment quickly disappeared from the valet's face. "Yes, sir!" he said eagerly, tucking the bill into his shirt pocket.

As the Cadillac slowly pulled away, Casey joined Carina and Chuck, the pair already linked at the arm. The three walked up the driveway along with a few other guests, following a long, cobalt blue carpet up past the extravagant two-story house and out onto to the golf course. The carpet eventually led past a welcome podium to a tremendous open tent that had been erected on the golf course, away from the house.

Casey gave a subtle groan as he considered the distance between the house and the tent. The raised back patio had a wide set of five steps leading onto a grassy hill. The tent was set up a good two hundred feet from the base of the steps; there would be no way to access the house without being noticed by one of the two Secret Service agents standing watch at the top of the steps, let alone defeating whatever other security measures guarded the Congressman's home.

Chuck quickly understood Casey's frustration. If any meetings were to be held, they would be held in the house, which by the looks of things was reserved for a small subset of those in attendance. Their short window of notice about the party had left little time for reconnaissance, but because of the internal squabbling, nobody had even suggested looking into how the party would be set up. Surely the NSA would have had access to the plans for a party at a Congressman's home; they probably could have gotten everything that they could have wanted with a phone call.

He wondered what else the team might have overlooked.

There was no help for it now, so they needed to see if they could locate Veron or Jennings in the tent. Following Casey's lead, the three checked in as their respective Carmichael aliases with a pair of beautiful young women standing at the podium. The agents continued down the carpet towards the tent.

The three entered the covered area. They stopped to collect their bearings.

The broad white canvas of the tent covered a significant portion of the 15th fairway. Several hundred people clad in fine evening wear mingled noisily, nearly drowning out the string quartet set up in the near corner.

Several dozen tables draped in fine white linen held oversized pink and blue flower centerpieces for the guests who chose to sit to eat the heavy hors d'oeuvres toted by the small army of waiters. A number of others were content to stand in the open spaces around the tables, talking and laughing as they sipped their champagne.

There were no apparent signs of either target.

Desperate to break the silence, Chuck joked, "Well, at least we won't leave hungry," snagging a plate with a spring roll from the loaded tray of a passing waiter. He took a bite, being careful not to spill the peanut sauce onto his tuxedo shirt.

Clearly not in the mood, Casey stared down the two and gruffly responded, "Focus. Eyes sharp,"

Carina gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, refusing to be distracted from the scene. Chuck returned Casey's stare, understanding the implicit instruction to try to flash – and this time, to not let Carina know. He reluctantly set the remainder of his snack on a tray of dirty dishes and gave Casey his own nod of acknowledgement.

They needed to find their targets in a hurry; they really had no idea if or when a meeting would take place. To cover ground more quickly, Casey split from Chuck and Carina. He indicated he would take the left half of the tent, leaving the right half for them.

As Casey disappeared into the crowd, the couple kept their position by the entrance for a moment. Chuck started scanning the nearby people; he focused on the first face he saw, and flashed.

_A deck of cards fanned out on a green felt poker table, surrounded by stacks of chips._

_A black-and-white photo of a much younger version of the man pouring gasoline onto an American flag._

_Another photo of the man lighting the flag on fire._

_A final photo of the man, a maniacal expression on his face, cheer on the conflagration along with several of his compatriots._

_The deck of cards on the poker table._

The elderly gentleman standing straight in front of him had been arrested at a flag-burning rally in the late 1960's. Attending a party thrown by a Republican Congressman suggested that his views had shifted somewhat since his days as a left-wing activist.

Chuck stole a quick glance at Carina. Her eyes were intently skimming through the crowd of party-goers, no doubt searching for Veron and Jennings. Apparently, she hadn't noticed anything unusual when he had flashed.

He returned his gaze to the reformed radical. The man was speaking with another silver-haired gentleman; Chuck didn't flash on him, but rather on his much-younger date.

_A picture of a tennis stadium court from high above._

_A series of pictures of her on the arm of some famous local politicians and personalities._

_The picture of the tennis stadium._

Apparently, the woman was an escort for a high-end local service.

The good news was that Chuck was able to control the response to both flashes; Carina still didn't seem to notice anything. Still, if he flashed on two of the first three people he saw in the tent, his self-control was likely to be challenged repeatedly that night.

"Do you have any aspirin on you?" Chuck asked Carina in all seriousness. "I feel a headache coming on."

She gave him a dismissive look. "C'mon. Let's see if we can find our guys."

The two wandered aimlessly into the crowd, with Chuck experiencing flash after unimportant flash. There was no sign of Veron or Jennings.

**Scene XXXIX – Estancia, COPEI Fundraiser**

The long hallway at the top of the stairs had high ceilings and dark wood paneling. Large paintings and narrow tables with small pieces of art periodically dotted the walls, adding a tasteful elegance to the space.

According to the architectural plans, the hall provided access to the rooms on the back side of the home and a few small rooms in the center, likely powder rooms and closets. Aside from the doors to the various rooms, the back staircase and a wide, open doorway leading to a landing that surrounded the foyer were the only ways to enter the hallway. Currently, the hall was deserted and strangely silent.

Bryce shot a pair of hand signals to Sarah indicating that she should keep watch and that he would listen at the doors. Sarah nodded, taking a position past the first door on the left towards the front entrance to the hallway. The familiar tension that accompanied being in a dangerous place crept into her muscles; as usual, she used the tension to aid her focus.

Bryce put his ear to the first door. Hearing nothing, he started walking to the next, with Sarah paralleling his movements and remaining a few steps in front of him, trusting him to watch her back.

He paused at the second door, listening to a muffled conversation. After a long moment, he moved again, convinced that the people that interested them were not in that room. Again, Sarah paralleled his movements, keeping her ears peeled for the sounds of anyone approaching.

At the third door, Bryce recognized the distinct characteristics of Moreno's voice from the eavesdropping he had done. He reached into his jacket pocket to search for one of the bugs from Sarah's iPod kit, intending to slip it through the gap between the door and the hardwood floor. With the receiver destroyed by his carelessness, they were going to need to risk the higher-powered transmitter.

"Honey, you can never seem to get your tie right," Sarah said critically, approaching him. "What am I going to do with you?"

At the sound of her voice, Bryce shot upright and stepped away from the door, warned that somebody was coming. Sarah walked up to him, giving a quick, intense look that was quickly replaced with a little smile, confirming his thought.

"I know: I'm hopeless," he said with a forced smile of his own.

Sure enough, one of the doors on the right side of the hallway opened up as Sarah took Bryce's tie between her hands, drawing it askew before re-straightening it. Gustavo Varela walked out of the washroom, quickly noting the couple in the hallway and directing a puzzled expression in their direction.

In Spanish, Varela asked, "Mr. and Mrs. … Wilkinson, was it?"

Sarah turned, feigning surprise at his appearance. "Why, there you are, Gustavo. So good to see you again."

He walked over to the couple, extending his hand to Bryce, who quickly shook it. "Likewise. But might I ask what you are doing up here?"

"Oh, I certainly hope we aren't intruding. We were speaking with Ramon Martinez downstairs and he was describing his home to us. It is absolutely amazing."

Bryce affably added, "He also mentioned that we might find you up here; we were hoping to continue our conversation from last night."

Varela frowned. "Surely he told you that upstairs was off-limits?"

Sarah replied, "Actually, he didn't. Of course … how can I put this delicately … he might have forgotten due to his … current state?"

Varela fought to keep his eyes from rolling. "I must apologize for Mr. Martinez. He is a fantastic contributor to our party's efforts, but occasionally he lacks … decorum."

Sarah didn't quite understand every word in Varela's rapid apology, but she understood enough. "We completely understand. We all have our little faults, but that doesn't mean we each can't contribute."

Bryce interjected, "And speaking of contributing, we are very interested in learning more about how we could help COPEI."

Varela's eyes shot over to Moreno's room, but he clearly didn't want to miss an opportunity to bring in two new supporters to bolster his party's coffers. He smiled. "Unfortunately, I have another meeting that I need to finish first. Perhaps I could persuade you to wait for ten or fifteen minutes?"

"Of course. Do you mind if we wander the hallway while we wait?"

"Actually, I will need to ask you wait in a nearby room," he said, directing them towards the fourth door down the hallway. "But perhaps I can send in my secretary to refresh your drinks and keep you company for a bit?"

"That would be lovely," Sarah said.

She opened the door; the room was a small guest room, with a pair of comfortable chairs flanking the double bed and a pair of doors leading to a small balcony, the glass panes revealing the darkness outside.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Varela said with a smile. "My secretary will be here in a few minutes." He quickly closed the door, leaving the couple alone.

The smiles quickly faded from Bryce and Sarah's faces. They needed to figure out a way to listen in on the meeting next door, and quickly.


	13. Covers and Kisses

**Scene XL – ****Estancia; Ejido, Venezuela; COPEI Fundraiser**

Sarah looked at Bryce and pointed to the door they had entered. Understanding immediately, he hurried over and put his ear to the door, listening carefully for signs of people approaching.

She pulled her iPod out of her clutch purse and tossed the purse onto the bed. Walking over to the shared wall between their room and Moreno's room, she set the ear buds in her ears. She placed the device against the wall and switched it to microphone mode.

"Crap! The walls are too thick. I can't hear anything." Sarah said, pulling the iPod off the wall.

"Try the balcony," Bryce suggested, keeping his ear against the door.

Sarah hurried to the double doors, throwing them open and stepping into the mostly still night air. She assessed her surroundings.

Unfortunately, rather than a single, long balcony running the length of the second floor, a set of lights mounted high on the house illuminated a series of individual balconies outside the rooms, each complete with its own wrought-iron railing. There was a seven- or eight-foot gap between her balcony and the one outside the next room.

Stifling another curse, she slipped out of her shoes. There was no time to waste: each second was another second of missed conversation.

Voices rose from the patio below. "Did you see what Arango did last night?" a male voice asked excitedly. "Split two defenders and then chipped the keeper. Beautiful."

Another male voice responded, "Ah, any good striker should be able to pull that off."

"Not with that kind of flair. He made the defense look foolish all night."

Sniffing the air, she realized that a pair of kitchen workers had stepped outside for a cigarette break and stood almost directly below her. This was getting better and better.

Sarah wrapped the ear bud cord back around the iPod and secured it in one hand. As quietly as she could, she climbed atop the sturdy railing, holding her arms out to her sides to aid her balance as brought herself fully upright. Closing her eyes, she took several seconds to calm herself and picture what she wanted to do.

She prayed that the cooks weren't looking her way. Bending deeply at the knees, she launched herself into space.

For a long, frightening, thrilling moment, she hung in space between the two balconies.

As she had planned it, the heels of her bare feet cleared the railing by scant inches, allowing her to land in the narrow space between the railing and the section of balcony easily visible from the room. When the balls of her feet touched the cool stone tile surface of the balcony, she bent her knees, allowing herself to drop into a crouch as she absorbed the landing with her legs. Her arms extended out to her sides, she touched down the tip of her thumb and forefinger from each hand to steady her balance. Only the slightest of scuffing noise marked her landing.

She remained rock-still for a moment, listening for any indication that she had been seen or heard. The men below continued their animated conversation unabated. She heard no other noises to indicate she might have been noticed.

Unfortunately, there was no where to mount her transmitters, and the balcony doors were sealed tightly enough that she would not be able to slip one of them into the room. Having been foiled by the thick walls before, she was going to need to place the iPod itself directly against the glass.

She sat down near the door, her back against the stone wall of the house to keep herself concealed from those inside. After unwrapping her ear buds, she slipped them into her ears before carefully reaching down and placing the iPod against the very bottom corner of the glass pane on the door. The conversation in the room came through as clearly as if she were in the room, clear enough that she was certain that she didn't recognize either voice.

"…last two deliveries went unmet. Our man still has a great deal of your money; he just doesn't know where to deliver it."

"Why am I just finding out about this now?"

"How were we supposed to pass word along?"

There was a pause.

"Fair enough. We need to get word to your man that we have a new rendezvous point and a new contact."

"That will take a bit of time to arrange, but we can get him the information in about a week."

"Can he make the other two deliveries, plus the money I've given you tonight?"

"That's a very large delivery, especially with somebody we haven't met before. We can't be held responsible…"

"I know, but we suffered a setback and we're way behind schedule. Our men need the money as quickly as possible."

"It can be arranged. Where and when?"

"The information is all here. Please pass this along to your man."

There was a quiet rustling of paper. "I'll take this and the money back west with me tonight."

Varela said, "Now that this has been arranged, when can we expect your people to enact their part?"

"I need to head back to Caracas to finalize some arrangements, but we should be ready in about a month." He chuckled. "Chavez won't know what hit him, and your people can step in and take control."

Sarah's blood ran cold. Were they talking about Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela?

What in the world was going on?

A small object struck her in the leg. She pivoted her head; Bryce was leaning over the balcony towards her, silently but desperately motioning for her to return.

She heard the door to their room open. Somebody was coming.

There was no time. She would need to risk being heard by the men below; there was no help for it.

Springing to her feet, she quickly wrapped up the iPod again and tossed it to Bryce. As he slid the device into his jacket pocket, she climbed up on the railing and leapt across the gap again, sliding down him like a fire pole as his arms helped slow her descent.

When her feet touched the ground, she took a seat on the railing and pulled him towards her by the lapels of his jacket.

She kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Oddly enough, he seemed surprised by the kiss. Maybe he expected her to do something else, or maybe he wasn't expecting the forcefulness of it. Regardless, after a brief moment, his arms returned her embrace and he pressed his body against hers.

At first, the forcefulness in her kiss was simply a function of the cover and the situation. Then she smelled him and tasted him, and felt his tongue begin a slow circuit of her mouth.

Consciously or not, her body drew upon her senses. Dormant memories stirred and passion flared. She shivered and ran a hand through his hair. Her tongue sought out and intertwined with his.

A discreet cough interrupted things.

The two guiltily separated, both managing to look a little embarrassed when they spotted an older, stoutly built woman in a white blouse and dark jacket regarding them with interest. Sarah quickly figured out that this must be Varela's secretary.

"My apologies, Madame," Bryce said. "My wife and I were just sharing a moment."

_That we were_, Sarah thought. The only question was how much of that electric moment was genuine passion and how much was adrenaline?

She tried to catch her breath. Again, she struggled to determine how much of her breathlessness came from her exertions and how much came from the kiss.

**Scene XLI - 6383 Turnberry Circle, Huntington Beach**

The three met back at the entrance to the tent, casually wandering outside with their champagne glasses into a pocket of space where they could speak without much fear of being overheard.

"Any sign of them?" Casey asked tersely, a fake smile plastered on his face.

A pair of head shakes answered his question. "Nobody we spoke with has even seen Jennings yet tonight," Carina added.

"Me neither. Well, this is just terrific." He looked at the house before turning to confront Carina. "Now do you see why I want to plan things out? Veron and Jennings could be meeting in the house as we speak, and we have no way of getting in there."

Carina nodded at a man walking past her into the tent. "I'll get in there," she muttered through gritted, smiling teeth.

"No, you won't," Casey answered around his flute of champagne as he took a sip. "Our orders are to avoid attracting any attention. Breaking and entering is not how you keep a low profile."

Chuck rubbed a pair of fingers against a throbbing temple. Their bickering wasn't doing anything to alleviate the pain in his head.

He had experienced 26 distinct flashes during their pass through the crowd, including a suspected small-time embezzler of road construction funds and a man who had seduced the wife of the mayor of Long Beach and was now blackmailing her into continuing their affair. The crimes were not quite as insignificant as deli meat smuggling, but they certainly were not things that the CIA would care about, either.

His head ached despite the four Advil that a helpful waiter had brought for him. All he really wanted to do was curl up in a ball ... preferably somewhere quiet, far away from the two arguing agents. He was about done with the infighting.

Forcing himself to put aside the pain, Chuck asked, "Is it possible Veron isn't here yet? He seems like the type of guy who likes to make an entrance."

Casey sighed, tipping his champagne glass towards the house. "Nope."

Veron and Jennings walked across the patio from the house. Jennings placed a friendly hand on Veron's shoulder, and the two shared a boisterous laugh at some joke the representative had just made. Veron made some small quip as the two descended the steps onto the lawn, and Jennings' smile grew once more.

"Meeting's over," Casey said disgustedly, finishing his champagne and letting the glass drop to his side.

The three despondently watched as the two made their way towards the tent. About halfway across the grass, Jennings said a few friendly words to Veron before changing direction, heading across the lawn directly towards the three.

"Crap!" Carina cursed under her breath, turning away from Jennings and lifting her own glass to her lips in a vain attempt to conceal her disquiet.

Casey was unable to hide his concern. "What now?"

She hesitated slightly before speaking. "OK, there's a chance, a small chance, that Jennings might recognize me."

"What?!"

"I was one of the lead agents who tried to nail Veron on the docks the day that Jennings came down, and Jennings is infamous for never forgetting a face."

"And you didn't think this was important information to bring up before now?! What were you going to do if we found him at the party?"

"I would have figured something out."

Chuck interjected, "Kids, don't you think there might be a better time to argue about this?"

Carina turned to face Chuck, positioning herself to completely face away from the approaching man. Her eyes were tinged with desperation. "Kiss me," she urged.

"What?!"

"Kiss me!"

Chuck froze.

With a frustrated little noise, Carina threw her arms around Chuck's neck and kissed him.

Chuck's eyes widened in momentary disbelief. Noticing Jennings continuing in their general direction, Chuck forced his eyes closed and tried to relax, sliding one hand into the small of her back and one between her shoulder blades. Given the circumstances and his pounding head, he was hardly able to enjoy the moment.

The kiss did not serve its intended purpose; in fact, it actually attracted the attention of Jennings. He was preparing to turn into the tent when he caught sight of the couple's embrace. He headed their way.

Casey cursed under his breath and moved to intercept Jennings, trying to keep a little extra separation between the man and the couple.

With an affable, expansive smile, the representative joked, "This is turning into my kind of party!" He regarded the three of them with an amused grin.

Beneath his smiling façade, Casey winced. So much for remaining inconspicuous.

**Scene XLII – ****Estancia; Ejido, Venezuela; COPEI Fundraiser**

Sarah slid off the railing, keeping her abashed expression as she slipped her shoes back on. "My apologies. I'm so embarrassed," she said, remembering to speak Spanish only at the last moment.

Varela's secretary gave the couple a knowing smile. "Don't be. I remember being young and in love," the secretary replied. "I am Ana Boschi, secretary to Gustavo Varela."

"Bruce Wilkinson," Bryce said, gently shaking the woman's hand. "And my wife, Sarah."

"A pleasure to meet you both. How long have you been married?"

Sarah looked at Bryce. "Not long," she replied with a fond smile.

"Seems like only yesterday," he added.

They shared a subtle smile at the inside joke.

"Well, you two make a beautiful couple," Boschi said. "I'm sure you will have a long partnership together."

_Partnership?!_ Sarah thought. With a bit of relief, she remembered the particular Spanish word could mean 'partnership' or 'marriage'; the secretary no doubt meant the latter. Still, the term had sent a bit of a shock through Sarah given her current situation.

She used that emotion to display nervousness and embarrassment, which she hoped would give her an opportunity to excuse herself. "Could I use the washroom, please?" she asked a bit plaintively.

Boschi's face became conflicted. Sarah continued, "I know Senor Varela wants to respect the privacy of his guests, but I will only be a moment." Her eyes pleaded for Ana to give her a private moment to gather her composure.

Ana's face became tinged with understanding. "Of course. It's directly across the hall."

With an appreciative nod of thanks, Sarah walked back inside, slipping past the secretary. As Sarah reclaimed her purse from the bed, she heard Bryce engage Ana in conversation. She closed the door quietly behind her as she left the room.

Looking up and down the hallway, she was relieved to find it deserted once more. The washroom across the hall was vacant, which meant she had a plausible escape route. She decided to chance one last attempt to slide a transmitter under the door of the meeting room.

Walking purposefully down the hall, she fished a transmitter out of her purse and was about to crouch down to plant the bug when the door shifted subtly.

The knob turned.

Her heart stopped.

Knowing she had seconds at best, she pivoted and sprinted four steps towards the washroom door, suddenly slowing to a walk a few feet, managing to alter her approach to appear to be coming from the other room. She heard the door open behind her as she gently pushed the washroom door out of her way, desperately trying to act casual as she flipped the light switch.

She had no idea whether she had been caught, and here she was walking into a room that would have no exits. Still, it was her only play.

Shutting the washroom door gave her an excuse to turn around and glance into the hallway. After turning, she forced herself to shut the door at a normal pace, looking up only at the last moment to appear disinterested. Her actions afforded her a quick glimpse of two men chatting as they exited the room: Moreno, and a man she did not recognize. They appeared fully engrossed in their conversation.

She closed the door quietly, but not too quietly. She hoped the action seemed natural: Moreno's agent training meant that he would recognize anything out-of-the-ordinary.

She turned to face the mirror over the sink. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she wiped a little moisture from her forehead with a towel. She extracted some make-up from her purse and re-applied it, using the well-lit mirror to locate a few places where sweat or physical activity had smudged some mascara and lip stick. It was a normal activity should somebody burst into the bathroom to confront her, and she definitely needed the touch-ups.

After a few minutes, she listened at the door for voices in the hallway. She could hear nothing. Still, she forced herself to count slowly to 20 before allowing herself to exit. She took a deep, calming breath before opening the door, her face assuming a neutral expression as she flipped out the light and moved into the hallway.

The hallway was empty once more.

An imperceptible sigh of relief escaped her lips. She walked back to her room.

Bryce and Ana stood on the balcony, enjoying the night air. Sarah walked out to join them.

He welcomed her back with a smile and an extended hand. "I was just telling Ana about our trip to Cabo San Lucas. Remember?"

Bryce didn't miss a trick to tug at her heart strings.

"Yes," Sarah said with a soft, reflective smile. "I remember it well."

**Scene XLIII - 6383 Turnberry Circle, Huntington Beach**

Feeling the scrutiny of the Congressman, Chuck struggled to find a way to lend realism to the kiss. He needed inspiration; he found it in Carina's perfume, and the softness of her lips, and the way her hand gently stroked his neck. His headache and the situation faded into the background, and he found an ember of passion deep inside that he coaxed into a small flame.

The representative seemed sold; he continued to smile at Casey. "So what's with those two?"

"My brother and his wife," Casey explained. "They're newlyweds. What can you do?"

Jennings chuckled. "Man, I miss those times. Heck, my wife and I hardly get two minutes alone these days."

"Trust me: it gets old to be around them."

"Drew Jennings," the Congressman introduced himself, offering his hand.

"Casey Carmichael," Casey said as he accepted the handshake.

The representative's smile went from friendly to intrigued. "Ah, Mr. Carmichael. One of the late additions to the guest list. I was hoping to meet you tonight."

"I'm honored."

"And I'm curious." Jennings regarded Casey more intently. "Generally speaking, people slip onto the guest list at the last minute for one of two reasons: they're either looking to talk about their pet issues with me and make a large donation, or they're government agents interested in checking out somebody else on my guest list."

Casey's smile faded a bit.

With a deceptively affable look, Jennings said, "You seem like a good enough guy. Please tell me that you brought your checkbook."

Carina realized that Jennings' curiosity was now piqued, and he wasn't going to leave without meeting the other Carmichaels. She suddenly separated from Chuck, leaving his lips pursed in the air for a second before reacting to the fact she was gone. Embarrassed, he averted his eyes as she pivoted to face Jennings.

The smile mostly faded from his face. "Hello, Agent … Carina, was it?"

"I'm flattered that you remember me, sir."

"Don't be. I always remember the people who embarrass me. It helps me prevent it from happening again."

He considered Casey and Chuck for a long moment, memorizing their faces. Chuck grew nervous under the scrutiny, but Casey calmly returned the stare, seemingly unaffected.

Jennings' face became completely flat, and his voice was ominously quiet when he turned to speak with Carina again. "I can only assume that you are here because you are interested in Jamie Veron once again. Am I correct?"

Carina nodded. "Yes, sir. We have strong reason to believe…"

I thought I made it clear that the DEA was to leave him alone. Veron is a legitimate businessman bringing valuable revenue and jobs to my district and a negative reputation to the Port of Los Angeles, and you have harassed him enough. Yet despite what I thought were painfully clear instructions that he was to be left alone, you have the gall to come after him in my own home?"

Casey said, "With all due respect, Congressman, it's our job to bring people like Veron to justice. Whatever you may believe about Veron, we have strong intelligence that he is, in fact, a drug smuggler. We wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Your intelligence is wrong."

"Sir, our intelligence is accurate. We have been charged with going after the people who threaten the stability of our country, and we just want the freedom to do our jobs."

Jennings stared in disbelief at Casey. "That's what kills me about you NSA agents. You get fixated about going after unimportant targets like Veron while you miss the real threats to our country. You always seem to miss the bigger picture about what really matters as our country falls apart around us. Why is that?"

Casey's eyes flared at the insult, but he seemed to decide to bite back his comments rather than to say something he might regret.

Carina showed no such restraint; she angrily opened her mouth to speak her mind.

"Don't," Jennings interrupted pointedly, staring at each of the three in turn. "Just don't. You'll only get yourself into more trouble."

Surprisingly, Carina chose to hold her tongue.

After making sure none of the three were going to say anything else, Jennings took a moment to consider things before speaking. "Here's what we're going to do: the three of you will leave now, without making a scene. I will forget about tonight. I won't even mention any of this to your superiors. But if I find out that any of you are ever within a hundred yards of Veron again, I will make it my life's work to make your lives difficult. And trust me when I say that I can make that happen very easily. Clear enough?"

"Very clear, sir," Casey answered, but with plenty of steel in his voice.

A friendly but affected smile returned to Jenning's face. "I trust the three of you can find your way out?" he asked. He patted Casey on the shoulder before he turned and walked away.


	14. Time to Go

**Scene ****XLIV ****– COPEI Fundraiser**

Bryce and Sarah spoke with Ana for a few more minutes on the balcony before sharing a look: they could not afford to wait any longer. They needed to locate Varela, Moreno and the mysterious third man from the meeting before they left the estate.

Sarah was especially eager to move on, as their cover as newlyweds gave Bryce opening after opening to bring up romantic moments from their past. He even went so far as to contrive a memory from one of the dreams they had shared in a rare moment of openness between two agents. She was becoming distracted and slightly uncomfortable, neither of which was good for the mission.

Besides, there was always the possibility that they had been discovered and Ana was merely keeping the two there either to delay them, or worse, to allow a trap to be set for them. Sarah was fairly confident that they were safe, but, as the CIA saying went, 'A healthy dose of paranoia helps keep an agent healthy.'

She said, "Ana, I appreciate you keeping us company, but I think we would like to head back downstairs. I really need to grab a bite to eat, and we were hoping to meet some other COPEI supporters."

"Oh, please, just a few more minutes," Ana practically begged. "I know Gustavo was excited to speak with you."

Bryce said, "I'm afraid I agree with my wife. Mr. Varela is clearly a busy man; hopefully we can meet with him another time."

"Please, let me see if I can find him. His other meeting should be finished by now; he probably was simply pulled aside by somebody else on his way here."

Sarah and Bryce exchanged glances. To her surprise, he said, "OK, I guess we can wait a few more minutes."

Ana smiled gratefully at the couple. "I'll be right back." She hurried off.

After she left the room, Sarah said, "You know we can't afford to wait any longer, right? Moreno and his pal could be on their way out as we speak, and if Ana brings back Varela, we'll be stuck here for God-knows-how-long."

Bryce scouted the area below the balcony and climbed over the railing as he spoke. "I know. Varela just escorted the other two out the back of the kitchen a minute or two ago. Their cars must be parked down the side road over that hill." He pointed away from the house on a diagonal to their right to show where the three men had gone.

Immediately understanding his plan, she climbed over the railing as well, carefully placing her heeled shoes between the black wrought-iron bars. "So Ana won't be finding Varela for a bit."

The pair pushed away from the balcony and made the ten-foot drop to the ground below, absorbing the impact with their legs and quickly resuming casual stances. Bryce continued their conversation as they strolled counterclockwise around the house. "That's right, but we need to beat them to the exit to the estate if we're going to tail Moreno."

Sarah shook her head. "We need to tail the other guy."

"Moreno is a Fulcrum agent. He's got to be the target."

"How do you plan on locating the other man again? We don't even know his name; all we know is that he's heading west tonight with a bunch of Fulcrum money and a new contact for delivery. Hell, he could be Fulcrum for all we know. If we don't track him now, we'll never find him again."

The pair came around to the front of the house; they stopped their discussion to be sure that they wouldn't be overheard by anyone.

They made their way down a grassy hill towards the main staircase to the house. The valets gave them odd looks as they appeared from the darkness to the side of the house rather than coming down the steps. Ignoring the looks, Sarah spotted the boy who had parked their BMW and crooked a finger at him. He quickly ran over to the pair.

"Do you remember my silver BMW? The one you raced down the hill at a dangerously high speed?"

The valet's expression grew guilty; apparently her guess about what he would do in the BMW was correct. He nodded nervously.

She handed him the ticket from her purse and, with a wicked grin, asked, "Do you think you can get it back here just as fast?"

A gigantic smile appeared on his face. After taking a second to ensure she was serious, he snatched the ticket and took off. He grabbed the keys from the valet stand and sprinted down the hill.

It was fun to occasionally give a kid a thrill like that, especially when it helped with a mission. She turned to share the moment with Bryce, but he was lost in thought.

Sarah was puzzled. It was odd to see Bryce struggle with what seemed to be a very simple choice. The only logical play was to go after the unnamed man and try to catch up with Moreno later.

Then it hit her: Bryce wanted to go after the Fulcrum guy because he was a Fulcrum guy, not because it was the logical play.

She kicked herself for not anticipating that. It only made sense that Bryce would feel that way: Fulcrum had turned his life upside down and nearly killed him, so even an experienced agent like Bryce would develop unreasonable emotional tendencies to pursue a member of the group over another alternative.

She decided not the press the issue yet; there was still the minor matter of beating Moreno and the other man down the hill.

The purr of the Z8 engine grew in the darkness, amplifying in volume as the car flew over one of the hills at top speed. It was going to be a race to the bottom of the drive, but the fleet-footed, and lead-footed, valet was going to give them a fighting shot.

**Scene XLV - 6383 Turnberry Circle, Huntington Beach**

The ostensible Carmichael family silently trudged down the carpet towards the valet stand at the end of the driveway.

Chuck felt ill in more ways than one. His head was absolutely killing him, but what was killing him more was that the mission had been a disaster.

Failure to eavesdrop on, or even verify, the meeting between Veron and Jennings? Check.

Failure to keep a low profile? Check.

Ticked off a Congressman? Check.

That only made it more puzzling that Casey seemed to be in a good mood.

Carina certainly didn't share that mood. Since the confrontation, her emotions had run the gamut from angry and frustrated to nervous and a bit ashamed. At the moment, she was tending towards the latter.

The Cadillac pulled up to the front of the driveway. The same valet who had parked the car gave Casey a nervous look as he stood in front of the towering agent and handed him the keys. The kid looked like he wanted to say something to Casey, but seemed to be unsure whether he should.

Casey coolly regarded him for a second before offering a small smile that suggested he understood. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "I know. Don't worry about it." He gave the kid a knowing wink.

The valet's face showed a little relief, but he still couldn't seem to shake off whatever was bothering him. He gave Casey a nod and walked back to the valet stand to wait his turn again. The boy continued to watch the group as they walked to the car.

Chuck was baffled about the nearly silent exchange. He wondered what it could possibly have been about. Had the boy taken the car for a joy ride? If so, it wouldn't be like Casey to reassure the kid like that. Then again, Casey was in a good mood after being chewed out by Jennings, so Chuck supposed anything was possible.

The three clambered into the Cadillac and drove off without a word. Silence prevailed as the car wound its way out of the neighborhood and back onto the major streets. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the occasional clicking of the turn signal.

A few miles later, Carina finally broke the silence. She turned to Casey and, in a somewhat contrite voice, she said, "I'm sorry, Casey."

He kept his eyes focused on the road. "For what?"

"I should have warned you that Jennings might recognize me. If we had planned things out … I was so focused on going after Veron … just, I'm sorry." After a pause, she bit her lip and looked out the window. In a self-critical, self-pitying voice, she added, "The mission failed because of me."

"Oh, please. Drop the 'woe-is-me' crap."

"Excuse me?!"

Occasionally glancing over at her as he drove, he explained, "It wasn't your fault. Tonight's mission had virtually no chance of success from the start. At least, not the way we tried to accomplish it."

Chuck saw something he never thought he would see: a speechless Carina. She just stared at Casey, completely dumbfounded.

As usual, Casey found a way to slip in a little dig. "Don't get me wrong: if we take on another mission, we're going to have a nice little chat before we get started. That doesn't matter; even if we had been given a week to plan tonight's mission, there's no way we could have eavesdropped on that meeting. We weren't getting past the Secret Service. We had no way to get in the house without Jennings knowing about it. It just wasn't going to happen."

Chuck asked, "So why are you in such a good mood?"

Casey smirked. "Because the smug bastard tipped his hand."

Carina's eyes widened hopefully. "How's that?"

"A couple of ways. He's hosting a party with 400 people, and he's practically the last to arrive? That's not like a politician. Something made him late, and he walked out of the house practically holding Veron's hand. The two talked about something important."

"So what if they had a meeting?" Chuck asked. "We know that they've met before."

"Jennings got ticked off enough to make a mistake. He tried to act like he did nothing but scan the guest list, but he slipped: he called me an NSA agent."

Casey paused while the implication sunk in. When he got nothing but blank stares in return, he explained, "How did he know I was NSA? He should have guessed I was DEA after seeing Carina."

It took Chuck a moment, but he finally figured out what that meant. "Jennings found out who added the names to the guest list."

"That's right, and the only way that he takes the time to do that is if he's worried about who might see him meeting with Veron."

Carina said, "I hate to play devil's advocate for the S.O.B., but maybe he just micromanages these events. For all we know, his secretary could be instructed to tell him who adds the names. We've still got nothing."

Casey's smirk suggested that he knew more than he had revealed, but he seemed content to let things play out. "Keep thinking it through. Let's say you're Jennings: you're a U.S. Representative who has been protecting Veron. You've just found out that the NSA is sending three people to your party. What do you do?"

"Well, I'd want to know why the agents were coming. I'd probably expect them to be after Veron."

"Why would you expect the NSA to be after Veron? The NSA doesn't usually go after drug traffickers."

"Something I should know all too well. OK, Jennings would know that as well. If he were clean, he would just be curious why the NSA were at the party. But if he had something to hide…"

"…he'll really want to know what we were after."

"You clearly don't think he'll buy that we were just there after Veron."

"Nope. He knows the NSA is involved, so he'll have to suspect we're after something more than just Veron. We might be striking a bit close to home for his taste, especially after he saw you here. If he's in bed with Veron, he'll want to know what we know and what we're after."

Chuck was having trouble keeping up. "Why wouldn't Jennings just make a couple of calls? Surely a member of the Select Committee on Intelligence would know the right people to contact to find out that information."

Casey seemed annoyed by the question; he spoke with exaggerated patience as he shifted lanes to pass a slow-moving blue minivan. "You know the people who have access to this file. It's a very select group, so Jennings would need to have access to just the right people, they would need to know exactly where to look, and they would have to have no compunction about revealing the information to the subject of the file. That's a long shot at best, even for Jennings."

"I guess."

"So, if Jennings can't get the information through channels, that leaves him with two options: holding tight and hoping the whole thing blows over, or going after us and finding out what we know."

Carina frowned. "Either way is risky, but it's tough to see him coming after us. He couldn't come after us in his home: there's Secret Service and way too many witnesses. He won't be able to track us down through his contacts: he'd have trouble explaining why he was looking for the location of three particular undercover agents, and he couldn't risk arousing suspicion. The smarter play is probably to stay calm and trust that he's been careful enough not to get caught."

"If Jennings makes the smarter play. He already made one mistake tonight, and he would have needed to make a quick decision once he found out we were coming."

"Well, he couldn't get us at the party and he wouldn't be able to find us later. He would need to have us followed after the party, or else he would risk not finding us again."

"That's right," Casey said with the tone of a man who knew more than he was saying.

A look of realization crossed her face. "Casey, are we being followed?"

Wham! A black van smashed into the rear bumper of the Cadillac, jolting the three passengers back against their seats as the car was knocked forward.

A shaken, slightly shocked Chuck looked around wildly as he said, "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

**Scene XLVI – ****Estancia Entrance, Route 4, Ejido, Venezuela**

Laying on her stomach under a scratchy bush wasn't one of Sarah's favorite pastimes, especially while wearing a backless dress. Still, being an agent wasn't about comfort.

She was stationed about two hundred yards from the entrance to the estate, in the middle of a cluster of bushes located only a few yards off the road. She had risked a quick sprint across an open field to station herself a little further up the driveway, but these bushes were the last cover for several hundred yards up the hill. She hoped this would be far enough to give Bryce fair warning about who was approaching his position.

The muffled sound of an engine grew in the distance, disturbing the silence of the night. Thirty seconds later, a car came rolling over the closest hilltop. She slid the night vision goggles over her eyes.

Using the goggles in these situations was tricky. She needed to aim the lenses high enough above the headlights to avoid a whiteout of the entire scene, yet low enough to capture the face of the driver. It was further complicated because the bushes that protected her from being seen also made it difficult to see out, especially when the thin branches swayed in the occasional gentle breeze.

The car drew closer; she tried to draw a bead on the car's occupants. A middle-aged couple quietly rode down the drive, staring blankly ahead.

It clearly wasn't either of their guys, unless they were being really careful and using a couple as cover.

Sarah quickly ruled that out. She slid the goggles back to her forehead and contacted Bryce on her mike. "Negative on the sedan."

"Roger that," came the reply through her ear bud.

Bryce was stationed down by the driveway exit to the main road. Luckily for them, there was a grove of trees on either side of the driveway and no lights of any kind. Any car should pause at the exit as the driver scouted for oncoming traffic, giving Bryce enough time to plant homing device on the rear bumper.

Of course, the plan assumed that their targets weren't already gone.

A large truck rumbled down the hill. Using the goggles, she determined that the driver wasn't one of their guys. However, that didn't mean that they couldn't be hiding in the back of the truck. It was still unlikely, but it never hurt to take a practice run ... unless you were discovered, of course. However, the truck should be an easy target.

"Negative on the truck, but you may want to mark it. You're clear: no other cars."

"Roger that."

As the truck approached the end of the driveway, the truck gradually slowed, eventually grinding to a halt. Timing his run based upon the speed of the truck, Bryce rolled just after his feet touched the road; he came to his feet in the driver's blind spot behind the truck. He dropped to a knee and gingerly reached underneath the bumper, holding the homing device a few inches inside the bumper.

The truck lurched forward, pulling the bumper into contact with the device. Bryce dropped his hand when he felt the magnet secure itself, the metallic pinging of the connection inaudible over the grinding of the truck engine as it found its gear.

As the truck turned to the right, he kept himself near the back of the truck and in the blind spot of the driver until he was close enough to the trees to risk a leap back into his chosen cover. He made his move.

The truck continued down the road, its driver completely unaware of Bryce's efforts. "Piece of cake," he said flippantly.

"Don't get cocky," she admonished. "That truck was about the easiest target you could expect."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice dripping with mock remorse.

She couldn't help but grin.

Since no other vehicles were approaching, Bryce took the opportunity to verify that the first transmitter was functioning properly. After fiddling with the receiver controls for a moment, he was quickly able to bring up the display. A graphic "1" moving away from the center dot at a rapid pace. He pressed another button and the scale changed, with the "1" much closer to the center dot and moving away at a slower pace.

He shut down the receiver. "Truck is hot," he said.

"Roger that," she answered. With the practice run a success, she settled in and tried to make herself more comfortable, removing a stick that was poking into her side and shifting a couple of rocks in the underbrush.

For a good ten minutes, she didn't see another vehicle. Sarah started to get nervous. She really didn't want to spend the rest of the night trailing that truck. It didn't feel right to her that Varela and his crew would be that cautious, so it would probably be a wild goose chase. But if Moreno and the other man had beaten them back down the hill, it was the only lead they had.

She was about to ask Bryce how much longer he thought they should wait when she heard a faint car engine through the whispering of the wind. The sound grew louder and louder.

A pair of headlights crested the nearest hill. A quick scan with the goggles verified that Moreno was the driver. Her heart leapt.

"We have a 'go' on the sedan. Repeat: a 'go' on the sedan. Moreno is driving; no passengers apparent."

"Roger that."

As Moreno's car drew closer to the end of the driveway, a second pair of headlights crested the hill. The distance between the two cars was dangerously small; Bryce ran a significant risk of being seen in the headlights of the second car if he attempted to plant the tracer on the first.

Sarah made a call. "We have a second car. Abort on the sedan. Repeat: abort."

"That's a negative. We need to track Moreno."

"You'll be caught. Abort!"

"I can make it work!"

Sarah made sure her gun was handy, as Bryce seemed prepared to make a huge tactical mistake.

**Scene XLVII – Los Angeles Streets**

The engine raced as Casey tried to create some space between the Cadillac and the van, but it was difficult: traffic in the immediate area made it difficult to build up any speed. He took his hands off the wheel just long enough to call in using his watch. "Casey here. Code red. Engaged by hostiles driving a dark van after departing the Jennings party. Proceeding with Plan Delta."

Chuck looked at Casey. "Plan Delta? What does that mean?"

Intense eyes returned Chuck's look in the rear view mirror. "It means you'd better fasten your seat belt."

The three of them were jolted again by the van ramming the Cadillac. Casey twisted the wheel violently, coolly correcting the skid caused by the impact.

"How, exactly, is getting rear-ended part of any plan?!" Chuck demanded frantically.

Carina was far calmer, but she couldn't resist adding, "Casey, if this is the type of plan you like to make, I'll stick to improvising, thank you very much."

Chuck stared dumbly as they roared past an Asian family of three riding in the right lane. The driver's emotions shifted from surprise to anger to fear when he realized the van was pursuing the Cadillac. The little boy in the back seat clearly thought the pursuit was the best thing ever.

From where he was sitting, Chuck had to disagree.

Casey weaved the car in and out of the patchy evening traffic. Carina tried to scope out the van's progress in the side mirror, while Chuck occasionally glanced through the rear window to stay apprised.

Something occurred to Chuck; he turned back towards Casey. "Can I ask a stupid question?"

His face twisted with effort, Casey slipped the Cadillac through a narrow gap between two cars as he answered, "Do you know another kind?"

Chuck grimaced. _Walked into that one,_ he thought. "Wouldn't these guys be looking to take us out quickly so we couldn't call in?"

"Given how easily I spotted their tail despite the homing device they planted on the car, I think it's safe to say we aren't dealing with rocket scientists here."

"Wait, what homing device?"

"The valet all but told me that somebody had been messing with the car, and the flashing light on the dash indicates that somebody planted a transmitter." He tapped the instrument panel; a small yellow light in the lower left corner blinked a warning. Chuck had thought the light meant that they were just low on gas. In another moment, he would have been fascinated by the technology behind the 'extra', but right now he was more focused on being frightened.

The pursuit continued for a bit; Carina and Chuck were helpless to do anything but watch. Despite the power of the Cadillac, Casey had trouble shaking the pursuers.

He started winding his way haphazardly through a business district; the traffic thinned, but still Casey had trouble shaking the van. Chuck didn't understand how a van could keep up with a souped-up Caddy, but he suspected he knew what would happen if he mentioned that to Casey.

Carina apparently felt no such need for restraint. "Can't you even shake a van? You should have left them in the dust miles ago."

Casey grunted while giving her a quick glare out of the corner of her eye. He spun the wheel hard to the right, exiting the business district and taking the car down a neighborhood street. Parked cars lining the sides of the road, but there was no actual traffic. Casey floored the accelerator.

Behind them, the van barely made the turn, nearly piling into the first parked car. Casey smiled and made "tsk, tsk" noises with his tongue as he watched the van vainly try to catch back up.

Turning his eyes back to the main road, he saw that the street was no longer deserted: a woman was helping her elderly mother across the road.

The agent cursed and laid into the horn. The younger woman tried to pull the lady out of the road, but she fell down, blocking the middle of the street. She screamed and irrationally held up an arm to protect her head.

Chuck couldn't even force out a girlish shriek of warning.

Seeing the woman all the way, Casey made a decision. He slammed on the brakes and piled the Cadillac into a beater of a parked car rather than hit the woman. The air bags deployed a split second before impact; Casey had triggered them manually using a button on the dashboard.

The younger woman, seeing the van quickly approaching, rushed back out to rescue her mother from the road. She half-dragged, half-carried the elderly woman to the safety of the far sidewalk.

The van rushed up, screeching to a halt alongside the Cadillac. Out jumped four men of shorter stature wearing ski masks. They quickly surrounded the car.

Chuck groggily tried to shake the fog from his head. A distant part of his brain noticed Casey and Carina trying to do the same and sounded a note of alarm.

They were helpless.

The back seat window next to Chuck burst inwards, and a knife punctured the side air bag. He was too disoriented to even flinch, barely figuring out how to raise his right arm, and only with a significant delay to the reaction. A hand reached through the shattered window and roughly held a blue rag with a sickeningly sweet smell over his nose and mouth.

The fog in his head increased; he weakly tried to force the hand away from his face. After about ten seconds, Chuck slackly collapsed back into seat as unconsciousness overtook him.


	15. Decisions, Decisions

**Scene XLVIII – ****Estancia Entrance, Route 4, Ejido, Venezuela**

Bryce studied the two approaching cars. _There's enough of a window_, he told himself. Moreno likely wouldn't pause long, which would give him a chance to clear the road before the second car arrived – he'd just need to time it perfectly.

Using the night-vision goggles, Sarah stared up the hill at the second car. She quickly activated her mike again.

"Bryce, the other car is the third man from the meeting. We can find Moreno again. Let Moreno go and put a tracker on the second car!"

Nearly every instinct he had told him to put the tracking device onto Moreno's car. He needed to follow Fulcrum at every opportunity, and while the other man could be Fulcrum as well, he wanted the sure thing. He wanted Moreno. He wanted Fulcrum.

Fulcrum was the group that led him to make an internal strike against the government. Fulcrum was the group that caused him to get shot and nearly killed. Fulcrum was the group that forced him to drag his only friend into the spy world.

Fulcrum was the group that took him away from Sarah.

Fulcrum was the enemy.

He fought to clear his head. Moreno's car was quickly approaching.

Bryce fingered the magnetic transmitter unit nervously as he pictured what he would need to do.

He gritted his teeth as he glanced at the trailing car; its headlights lit the road painfully close to the front car. He would have mere seconds to pull this off; then he would need to recover and repeat the exercise on the second car.

As the car neared the intersection, Moreno became barely visible behind the wheel, his eyes alertly scanning the area around him. The car began to slow. Time seemed to slow as well.

Bryce's right leg tensed as he prepared to launch himself into the road.

Sarah's voice pleaded in his ear once more. "Bryce, let Moreno go! Please!"

Bryce hesitated.

The car slowed to a stop.

_Go!_ he yelled to himself. _Go now, or he'll get away!_

His body wouldn't respond.

The agent in him realized that Sarah was right and had seized control. His training had kicked in, overruling his emotion.

The headlights of the trailing car were already almost close enough to reach the rear bumper of Moreno's car. He realized that he never would have made it without being seen.

That didn't stop part of him from silently screaming in frustration.

Moreno's tires spun slightly, kicking dust into the air as they searched for traction. The tires found purchase and the car launched forward, speeding off on the road back to town.

Bryce stared blankly into space for the briefest of moments; his training once again helping him come to his senses and put aside his uncertainty over the previous decision. What was done was done. All he could do now was plant the bug on the second car.

A maroon late-seventies Chrysler LeBaron, a car that would blend in with the cars on the Venezuelan roads, glided to a stop at the intersection. This time, Bryce didn't hesitate.

He shoulder-rolled behind the bumper on the driver's half of the car. Holding the transmitter just forward of the bumper, he again let the motion of the car pulling forward bring the bumper into contact with the magnet. The slight ting the contact caused was completely obscured by the sounds of the roaring engine and the spinning tires.

Bryce dropped to his stomach, head pointing out to the main road and protected by his arms. He tried not to move.

Dust welled up around him in the wake of the LeBaron, and a few small rocks pelted him as the tires spun. Still, he didn't move.

The Impala followed the LeBaron into town, its driver apparently unaware of the additional tiny cargo clinging to the inside of his rear bumper.

Still, Bryce didn't move; he kept his head buried in his arms. Moreno had gotten away. Fulcrum had gotten away.

Long after the taillights disappeared in the distance, Bryce pulled himself off the road and tried to get the dust off his tux. It would need a good cleaning, but it would still be usable.

He heard soft footfalls on the road behind him. He stole a quick look back up the hill as he brushed some dirt from his shoulder, confirming the footsteps belonged to Sarah. He tried to get the dust off the seat and legs of his pants as he waited for her to arrive.

"Bryce!" she called quietly. She ran up in her bare feet, her short heels in one hand and night-vision goggles in the other. Slowing as she approached, she asked, "What happened?"

To answer, he walked back to the bushes and retrieved the receiver, returning to where she stood as the unit booted. The central LED came to life, showing a "1" moving off to the east and a "2" just south from their current location.

"I marked the second car," he said, half-handing and half-shoving the receiver into her hands. "You were right; the cars were too close together to get Moreno's car."

She offered him a congratulatory smile in the glow of the screen. "Nice work." She slipped her shoes back onto her feet as she examined the display.

"I guess." He started walking back to where they had parked the BMW. It hurt not getting the tracking device onto Moreno's car. They had a chance to tag a Fulcrum agent, and they missed it.

Sarah looked up from the monitor; she noticed Bryce had left and walked quickly to catch up to him. When she was along side him, she cast him an assessing look.

The two walked in silence. A few paces from the car, she asked, "You know you did the right thing, don't you? We can find Moreno again. We couldn't have found this other guy again."

One word stood out to Bryce; his mood did a 180 and he stopped in his tracks next to the driver's door. "'We'?" he asked her hopefully over the roof.

Sarah's face became clouded and conflicted, an expression that only a handful of people had ever seen from the confident and seemingly imperturbable agent. "Bryce, just so there aren't any misunderstandings: when I said 'we', I meant the CIA."

His exhilaration vanished as quickly as it had come. Suddenly, the other mood was back, the frustration now colored by sadness as well. "Then you've made your decision."

Her conflicted expression remained in place. "No, I haven't. I haven't decided either way yet."

The two stared at each other for a moment; by unspoken mutual consent, they climbed into the car. The two buckled themselves in.

He fought through a cloud of emotions. He may have lost an opportunity to get a fix on Moreno; he was determined not to lose Sarah as well.

After starting the car, he turned to her. "You know I really need you, right? In more ways than one?"

Sarah nodded, seemingly unable to do more than that. She looked away.

He sighed imperceptibly. She was always like this when her feelings came into play. He had been pushing the emotional angle all night, and now she was overloaded. He knew all too well that pushing her now would just be pushing her away.

The first thing he needed to do was to get her out of her defensive bunker by removing the pressure.

He put on as friendly an expression as he could muster. "Hey," he called, getting her to look at him with a wary, guarded expression. "No matter what you decide, it's OK. We'll be OK."

It was a flat-out lie. He had no idea what he would do if she decided not to join him. However, it was what she needed to hear right now.

She gave him a grateful smile. Seeming to relax, she fiddled with the receiver to bring up the monitor again.

He put the car into gear, and eased the car out from between the trees onto the main road as quietly as he could. Only after the car had gained a bit of speed did he turn the headlights on.

Bryce guided the BMW down the rural road, driving the car in autopilot as he considered how to convince Sarah to stay with him. When it came to matters of the heart, Sarah was nothing if not mercurial.

He knew they both would be happier if she came to join him. They would get back to where they had been: doing what they loved, working the most critical of CIA missions, being accountable to nobody, and best of all, being together.

He just needed to convince her to make the leap, and time was running out. It had taken him months to convince her to pursue her feelings for him the first time; now he only had a day or two more at most.

He needed to figure out how to convince her to stay. He had to find a way.

**Scene XLIX – Van Interior**

The nondescript black van cruised down the California highway, just one of hundreds of car heading down I-5 on a Tuesday night. However, it was probably the only vehicle with three unconscious agents, each gagged and bound hand and foot, as cargo.

The three agents lay on the cold metal floor of the van. Their muscles were completely relaxed, although if they had been conscious, they would have been tense from the repeated jars and jolts suffered because of the poor shocks.

Their captors had removed their masks and were talking quietly among themselves in Spanish to pass the time. There were only two seats in the car, so two of the captors sat Indian-style with their backs against one side of the van.

A cell phone sitting in the center dashboard console rang; the group immediately quieted. The man in the passenger seat answered the call.

"Yes?"

"Where are they now?" asked the voice on the other end of the phone.

"We just passed Aliso Viejo."

"So, they're headed south?"

"No, we've already captured them. We're taking them back to the house."

"You idiots! You were supposed to follow them, not capture them! Why do you think I gave you a homing device and the receiver?"

"But…"

"Shut up! Let me think for a minute."

The man in the chair nervously waited. Jennings had told them that he and Veron had decided to capture them and take them to Veron's house down the coast. Apparently there was some type of misunderstanding, because Veron was clearly livid.

The silence on the other end lasted a full minute.

"OK, here's what we're going to do…"

The man's listened to his employer without speaking for nearly another minute. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Wait, you want us to do what?!"

"You heard me. Oh, and if Jennings tells you anything differently, you call me before you do it. Got it?"

"Yes."

The man in the passenger seat hung up. They suddenly had a long night ahead of them.

**Scene L – Venezuela roads**

The mystery man's car headed back into Ejido, turning west on route 7. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Bryce had made preparations for exactly this type of scenario – as long as their target headed west on route 7 or back through Merida. There were a couple of mountain routes that they didn't have the time or the resources to fully cover, which would have made things trickier.

Once their target had safely reached the outskirts of Ejido, the agents were comfortable passing the slow-moving car. There wasn't much between Ejido and San Juan, so they could reasonably expect their quarry to continue to the village.

The flashy BMW was going to attract notice, and while that was useful in their cover as an affluent couple, it was far less useful when they were tailing somebody. The beautiful car stuck out like a sore thumb on the Venezuelan roads.

When they reached San Juan, Bryce navigated the car off the main route and up a series of side streets. He pulled into a narrow, deserted alley that passed between a pair of ramshackle one-story buildings. The engine noise echoed off the building walls as it raced down the lane.

Midway down, Bryce braked to a halt. Sarah jumped out, alertly scanning her surroundings as she walked to a pair of tall doors. She placed a key in the padlock and turned, removing the lock and pulling the door all the way open.

Bryce quickly directed the car into the space in the building, popping the trunk open and shutting down the engine. Sarah closed the door as soon as he entered the building; she quickly replaced the padlock. A normal-sized door further down the alley came open as Bryce stuck his head out, quietly alerting Sarah. The two disappeared inside.

Four minutes later, Bryce and Sarah exited the other side of the building in a brown, late-seventies Impala, a car that they had seen on the roads at least half a dozen times over the past day or two. Their formal evening wear had been exchanged for form-fitting black outfits, and all of their equipment had been shifted from the Z8 to the Impala. There were ready for action.

As Bryce navigated back toward Route 7, Sarah flipped on the receiver again. The "1" of the truck was nearly off the screen in Merida; the "2" of their mystery man was southwest of them.

"Looks like our friend made up the ground and then some, but he's still probably on route 7."

"Well, let's catch up with him."

Bryce navigated back to Route 7 and hung a right; they were a few miles behind their guy. As slowly as he was moving, they would probably get to the more-ideal tailing distance of half a mile within fifteen minutes. Even if their guy turned before then, they could use the receiver to calculate the GPS coordinates of his route and retrace his steps.

Bryce focused on driving while Sarah kept one eye on the receiver and fiddled with the equipment in the bag she had packed. Everything but her gun went into a pocket or sheath on her person; she set the gun onto the seat next to her.

"Where do you think he's going?" Bryce asked.

"Don't know," Sarah replied. "Wouldn't be surprised to see him cross over into Colombia, though."

"Why's that?"

"Gut feeling. Maybe because Varela could handle anything inside the country."

"Unless they're just this other guy's organization to insulate themselves; in case something goes wrong, COPEI wouldn't be directly implicated."

"Certainly possible. Guess we'll see."

After she finished organizing her equipment, Sarah put her bag into the back seat. "Switch?" she asked.

Bryce pulled the car over in response.

The two switched places. Sarah slid the driver's seat up a notch while Bryce fetched his bag from the back seat, and the two were off again in pursuit.

Bryce spent a few minutes arranging his own equipment, setting his gun onto the seat as well. When he finished, he put the bag into the back seat and settled into a more comfortable position, occasionally glancing at the receiver in his lap.

The Impala coasted down the reasonably modern four-lane highway. Their man didn't seem to be in a particular hurry, so Sarah didn't need to do anything too outrageous to navigate the scattering of late-night traffic.

She forced herself to relax. A mistake that many green agents would make is that their intensity tied up their concentration for too long. When they really needed to focus, they were unable to do so. After only a couple of hours of intense focus, her mind still didn't really need rest, but she was certainly going to take it while it was available.

At first, she simply watched her surroundings fly by through the darkness. A few miles outside of San Juan, the road had entered a long mountain valley, the straight lines replaced by long, sinuous curves. The hills and the trees lining the road would brighten as the car neared, and then would fade into silhouettes as they passed the range of the headlights.

She sensed Bryce shift in the seat next to her, shifting her train of thought slightly. She thought about what she said to him by the car back at the estancia.

Sarah truly had no idea which was she was leaning. Her head was with Bryce, but her instincts were telling her to go with Chuck.

Could she trust her instincts? An agent's instincts were everything, but as much as she had tried to deny it over the past four months, part of her knew Chuck had been threatening to fully compromise her. Now she needed to ask herself: was she already compromised?

There was an easy answer to the difficult question: yes. It had to be yes. She knew the correct decision, the rational decision, was to go with Bryce and to choose the mission that made the most sense for the CIA and her career. She knew the right decision was to request reassignment so her emotions would not get in the way of doing her job. Yet she was struggling with the decision.

She was compromised.

A shiver ran down her spine. Sarah had heard stories of other compromised agents. The stories rarely ended well.

Truth be told, she had always been irritated by the notion. How could an agent let something like that happen? It went against everything an agent swore to uphold the day he became an agent. Yet here she was, a thousand miles away from Chuck, and he was still affecting her decisions, preventing her from doing her job as she should.

She was compromised. There were no two ways about it.

Suddenly, a feeling of desperation came over Sarah. She needed to escape her feelings. She needed to think about something else. But what? What was safe?

She looked around … finally noticing the oncoming headlights of the cargo truck fifty yards in front of her.

"Um, Sarah?" Bryce asked with a hint of tension in his voice.

Sarah yanked the car back over into her lane. The truck angrily honked as it passed, its driver giving voice to his displeasure as he passed.

Bryce raised a slightly amused eyebrow. Sarah chose to ignore the look. Mostly. "Shut up."

His face became even more amused, but he obliged. He went back to studying the maps on his equipment.

Sarah was irritated. This was ridiculous. Chuck damn near got her into a car wreck while he was a continent away. What would happen if she went back? How could she protect a man who affected her like that? It could never work.

She was compromised by her asset, so she needed to change assignments. Period.

Jaw clenched, Sarah's mind was set once again. It was Bryce. It had to be Bryce.


	16. Loss of Control

**Scene LI – Venezuela, Roads**

Sarah found herself unable to talk to Bryce after her decision. She had hoped that the simple act of making the decision would alleviate some of the anxiety that her realization had caused her, but she found it wasn't really helping. She instead focused on the road.

At the tail end of the valley, the highway began an ascent to a high mountain pass on the border between the Venezuelan states of Merida and Tachira. Over the course of 20 straight-line miles, the road climbed nearly 7000 vertical feet through a series of steep slopes and tight switchbacks. The tough drive had given her an excuse to withdraw into herself, and she gladly used it. The result was a quiet ride with few exchanges.

The decline on the opposite side of the pass was even steeper; over 5 miles, the road descended a full 5000 feet. It was treacherous going, especially in the darkness.

The road finally leveled out and mostly straightened when they left the village of Las Mesas. She breathed a deep sigh of relief and checked her watch. They had shadowed the LeBaron for nearly 60 miles; due to the terrain, the trip had taken almost two hours. She rolled her head from side to side to try to loosen her neck muscles.

Just as she felt herself begin to unwind, they reached the village of La Fría. Located close to the western border of the country, the town of several thousand was one of the last stops before the highway headed north into a more rural section of Venezuela.

"Hey," Bryce said, breaking a long silence as he stared at the monitor. "I think our guy turned."

Sarah kept her speed up for the moment, waiting for the next instruction. It came quickly.

"Turn right at the next intersection."

She obliged. The car turned and then straightened.

After nine or ten blocks, Bryce ordered, "Left turn, next intersection,"

Sarah wordlessly complied.

"Slow down. We're getting close."

Up ahead, the road made a Y, giving the opportunity to choose a direction. Bryce chose a third option. "Park," he said.

Looking to the right, Sarah saw a building that looked like an apartment of some kind. She guided the passenger-side tires along the curb in front of the home, flipped off the headlights and killed the engine.

On the left branch of the road, the empty LeBaron was parked on the right side of the street. Sarah suspected their man was in the small café-like restaurant at the mouth of the Y.

Unfortunately, they couldn't risk entering the establishment. This time of night, the place would be nearly empty. Besides, there weren't many blond women wandering the back country of Venezuela wearing form-fitting all-black outfits, and Bryce wouldn't exactly blend in either.

"What do you think?" Sarah asked Bryce.

"Late dinner," came his reply, a shrug implied by his tone. "Maybe a meeting?"

Expecting that they would be there for a bit, Sarah decided food was a good idea. Fetching her bag, she retrieved her trail mix and her water bottle. When she offered, Bryce took a handful and a swig of the water.

The two scanned the street, taking turns dipping into Sarah's stash. Bryce familiarized himself with the local street layout, just in case, while Sarah spent a little extra time keeping an eye on the surrounding area.

The only thing that seemed remotely suspicious was a beat-up transport truck parked beyond the LeBaron on the next block. Army green canvas covered the cargo area, which suggested the truck was ex-military. While it wasn't unusual to find an ex-military truck in domestic service, it certainly bore watching.

A full thirty minutes later, their quarry exited the restaurant, accompanied by two strangers. He walked to the LeBaron and retrieved the briefcase Sarah saw him carry out of the Moreno meeting. He set it on the trunk, opened it, and secured a folded piece of paper from the case. Stepping back, he invited one of the other men to examine it. Meanwhile, he slipped the paper into his money clip and the clip into his pants pocket.

One of the strangers, wearing a bright yellow T-shirt that accentuated his huge belly, pulled out a couple of neatly-bundled stacks of bills as he counted what was in the case. With a nod, he replaced the bundles and closed the case.

The pot-bellied man picked up the case and shook hands with the other two men. Their mark handed the man a set of keys.

"What is that about?" Sarah wondered aloud.

The man with the case stepped towards the driver's side of the LeBaron. He opened the door and climbed in. The LeBaron engine started and the lights turned on. The other two men started heading for the truck.

"They're switching cars!" Bryce said.

This was bad. They were going to lose their tracking device, and a truck could go too many places where they couldn't follow in the Impala.

Sarah said, "We have to get on that truck. We go in fifteen seconds."

The two agents scrambled to grab their guns and retrieve their bags from the back seat. They were going to need to lighten their loads.

"We'll never get on the truck where they are," she said. "They'll see us."

"Alley across the way," Bryce called. "They'll likely be heading back to route 6. We'll cut 'em off."

Glancing up from her packing to locate the alley, Sarah said, "Got it."

Their mark and the third man split as they walked around opposite sides of the truck with the stranger heading for the driver's seat. Laughing at some comment, the two climbed into the cab. The truck lights came on and the engine roared.

"Out in three seconds," Sarah said.

Bryce removed two last items from the bag, stashing them beneath his seat. "Go."

Belying their frantic movements of the previous moment, the two casually exited the car, slinging the bags taut across their backs and locking the doors. They crossed the road as naturally as if they were walking home after a long day.

Sarah's heart was already pounding.

Fifty yards away, the driver checked his mirrors, seeing nothing but a pair of pedestrians crossing the street a ways back. The truck protested as it moved away from the curb.

Bryce and Sarah arrived at the entrance to the narrow alley. They broke into a dead sprint. Echoing footfalls announced their movements; they would have to chance it that nobody would notice, or, at the minimum, that nobody would care.

The truck arrived at its first intersection. The driver checked both directions and turned left.

The two agents were a pair of streaking shadows in the darkness of the unlit alley. Both stumbled several times on refuse and cracks in the pavement, but they kept their feet and kept running, their heads back and their eyes focused.

The truck arrived at the next intersection and made another left turn.

Bryce and Sarah continued to run down the seemingly endless alley. Both tripped where some underground force had cracked and raised part of the pavement about three inches. The two sprawled hard onto the ground, but they pushed themselves back to their feet and were sprinting again in an instant, panting with exertion.

Looking ahead, Sarah could make out the bouncing headlights of the truck in the street ahead. The sound of the engine indicated the truck was picking up speed.

Digging deep, she forced herself to ignore the burning in her lungs. Her legs churned.

The front of the truck became visible to them just as they reached the end of the alley.

The agents exited into the street with a full head of steam, quickly moving behind the truck to conceal themselves from the occupants.

They were fifteen feet behind the truck. She sensed Bryce along side her, laboring slightly in his stride, just as she was.

They had to get on that truck. If not, everything they had done the past two days was virtually for nothing.

A burst of adrenaline gave her an additional burst of speed. Now she was five feet away, but she had almost nothing left.

She heard the revolutions of the engine decrease. The driver was shifting gears, which meant the truck would slow for the briefest of moments.

She took a chance the deceleration would last long enough. With what little strength she had left, she took three more steps and made a desperate leap.

The truck slowed as the driver struggled with the unfamiliar gear shift.

The ball of her foot landed on the bumper.

The truck found its gear and jerked forward.

Her balance failed her.

For a long, agonizing moment, she felt herself start to fall backwards towards the street, her foot still on the bumper.

As she fell, her grasping right hand found a heavy piece of looped fabric mounted on the frame of the truck. She caught herself with a jerk, and then yanked herself back upright.

Bryce landed on the left side of the bumper an instant later. He found a similar handhold and steadied himself.

Gasping for breath and fighting the need to hunch over, the agents shared a look that was part disbelief, part pain, and part ludicrous exhilaration. They each managed a quick grin.

Now, they needed to get inside the truck. Both listened intently to see if they could hear anyone talking or moving inside. They exchanged another look and a few hand signals: neither had heard anything, but it was impossible to know for sure over the noise of the truck.

Sarah bent over and loosened the ties that held the faded and dingy canvas flaps in place. She stood back up, and the agents retrieved their guns from their bags. They extended their right arms to the middle, Sarah with her back to the flaps and Bryce with his front.

Looking at Sarah, Bryce mouthed a count.

_3 ... 2 ... 1 ..._

They quickly pulled the fabric out of the way using their guns, pointing their weapons into the cargo space.

In what little light trickled in from a passing light, they saw the shadows of plenty of cargo, but no guards.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The flow of adrenaline stopped; she suddenly felt like collapsing.

Through sheer force of will, the two exhausted agents climbed over the gate into the bed of the truck. She tied the flaps back down while he pulled out a flashlight.

He scanned the interior, searching for a place for the two to sit. The best option seemed to be the eight huge sacks of flour that lay in a square up near the cab, stacked two high.

They made their way to the bags and, as carefully as their spent strength allowed, they laid themselves down. Bryce turned off his flashlight. As the truck bounced down the road, the two stared into the darkness, trying to recover - and to figure out what their next steps would be.

**Scene LII – California, White Room  
**

The four men from the van carried Carina, Casey and Chuck through a doorway. It took two of the men to move Casey, with the other two men each carrying one of the other agents.

The simple room had plain white walls and a pair of small round windows high on opposite walls that let in the night sky. Four chairs were scattered around the room, all facing the center of the space.

A beat-up rectangular wooden table was positioned against the far wall. The table held an array of items: a capped metal can, several rags, a few syringes and a number of nasty looking metal instruments. The few other items in the room had been pushed into the corners and covered with white sheets.

The men dumped the three limp bodies into various chairs. Casey ended up in a chair close to the center of the room. Carina and Chuck were arranged in two chairs sitting close together; their chair backs touched an empty portion of the wall with the door.

Wordlessly, the men cut some lengths of rope from a large coil on the floor. They efficiently bound the three hand and foot.

"What now?" the man who had carried Chuck asked in Spanish.

"These guys won't wake up for an hour or two," answered the man from the passenger seat of the van, the apparent leader of the four. "Go ahead with the other preparations we discussed."

The three other men left the room with flat, tired expressions. The group leader noted this; his men weren't happy to find out that they had been reprimanded for capturing the three agents. They were less happy to find out what Veron's new orders were.

Hopefully Veron knew what he was doing. The plan seemed unnecessarily risky.

He sighed and set about fulfilling his orders.

**Scene LIII – Venezuela, Back of Truck**

Sarah stared off into space as the truck gently bounced down the road. The truck had been moving relatively slowly since it left La Fría. She was glad of this: a faster pace would have left her covered in bruises.

The truck had driven along what felt like major highways for about an hour since the two boarded. Bryce had used his equipment and what he could learn from the truck's movement to determine that they were traveling northward up route 6.

They didn't dare dig through the supplies in the truck too much, as they didn't want to do anything to alert the men in the cab. However, the cargo appeared to be a combination of an arms shipment and a huge grocery run.

Up near the cab were the groceries: the bags of flour, Styrofoam coolers containing frozen (but thawing) meat and eggs, crates of fruits and vegetables, and various other foodstuffs.

The back half of the truck bed was largely filled with arms: about 20 guns of various makes, boxes containing different types of grenades, dozens of boxes of bullets, and even a pair of shoulder-mount rocket launchers. There was also a small cache of explosives along with a few other items.

Given the supplies in the truck, both agents agreed that there was a good chance the truck would turn left and head into Colombia before too long. A prime cocaine-producing region was located in the region north of Cucuta and northwest of their current position. It was also a prime area for paramilitary outfits to hide out.

Neither option was particularly good; they did not want to end up in the middle of a private army. Both agents realized that they could quickly find themselves in trouble if the truck ever turned west.

Sarah was originally for stopping the truck and finding out what the two men in the cab knew. However, Bryce correctly pointed out that there was a good chance they would end up with nothing but a cryptic set of instructions about the money drop and a pair of men who would say next to nothing for fear of reprisals against their families. The trail would be lost.

Planting a homing device and following from distance wasn't an option either. The jungle roads were notoriously difficult to follow, and there were far too many opportunities to get ambushed.

No, they were really down to two options: stay in the truck and play things by ear, or abort the mission now. Sarah couldn't decide whether the two of them were just too dedicated, or too confident, or too stubborn to abort, but it didn't really matter. They were going.

For the moment, the pair had managed to get somewhat comfortable on the bags of flour. Both agents mostly stared blankly into space, with Bryce taking the occasional look at the equipment to monitor their progress.

The slight rocking of the truck was almost hypnotic. Sarah was close to falling asleep when he spoke.

"Sarah, I just wanted to thank you for everything."

Sarah's head was foggy; she didn't even turn to face him. "For what?"

"Everything. If it weren't for you, who knows where I would be right now."

She basked in the sound of the smile in his voice, her expression turning happy as well. "It's my job."

"It's more than just that, and you know it. I certainly wouldn't be going to see my sister get married if it weren't for you."

At that, Sarah shook herself. "Wait, what?" she asked, turning to face him.

Chuck, dressed in a tux and looking very good to her from his perch on one of the bags, said, "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be going to see Ellie marry Awesome. I'd be in a bunker somewhere looking at a series of images on a computer screen, describing anything that I flashed and living on a steady diet of bad cafeteria food and canned air." He shuddered. "I don't know that I could stand losing everything that matters to me. You're the only one who ever cared about that. Thank you."

Sarah realized she was wearing an elegant black dress and wore her hair up, the type of thing she would wear if she were going to a formal wedding. She just stared at his unbelievably happy smile and the gratitude etched on his face.

He added, "I'm not sure I understand why we had to go to the wedding in this truck, though."

Something felt wrong about that to Sarah as well, but as usual, she tried to reassure him. "We're just being careful. Fulcrum might have figured out who you are and they'll be looking for you. No windows means no chance of being inadvertently spotted."

"I didn't really need an explanation, not from you. I trust you. You've always taken care of me. Besides, I'd ride on the back of a camel if it were the only way to get to Ellie's wedding."

The truck ground to a halt. "Guess we're here," he said cheerily. They both found room to stand between the various cargos of the truck. "How do I look?"

Sarah adjusted his tie and helped him clean some of the flour from his pants. "You look really good," she said sadly. Why was she sad?

The back of the truck opened, revealing three agents: Casey along with two other men. All three sported dark sunglasses and black suits. The two faceless agents pointed their guns at Chuck.

His face turned ashen as he saw what was behind the agents: desert sand. About fifty feet away sat a rocky hill with a concrete bunker and a solid, rusty-looking metal door.

He turned to her, looking for an explanation. "Sarah? What's going on?"

She remembered why she was sad. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I couldn't protect you any more."

"Sarah?!"

She was no longer there, but she could still see and hear everything from a fixed vantage in the truck. Casey grimly escorted Chuck towards the metal door; the NSA agent was absolutely blank-faced and professional. The other agents covered Chuck as if he was the most dangerous criminal they'd ever faced.

His babbling grew more distant as the group moved towards the door. "Wait, I'm not ready to go. Ellie's getting married. I haven't said goodbye to anyone. Can we get in touch with Sarah? There's got to be another way. There's got to be another way!"

One of the faceless agents held the door open as Casey roughly guided Chuck inside.

"Sarah?! Sarah!!"

She saw the metal door slam closed behind him, but the sound of a prison cell shutting and locking echoed in her head.

"Sarah," Bryce hissed more insistently.

She started awake, his hand over her mouth. Her wide eyes looked left and right as she tried to reorient herself.

"Sarah, the truck just turned. We're heading into Colombia."


	17. Narrow Escapes

**Scene LIV – California, White Room**

"Sarah?! Sarah!!" Chuck called out groggily.

"Chuck! Hush!" she hissed from his left.

"Oh, thank God, Sarah. We were in a car wreck and…" he stopped, realizing it wasn't Sarah's voice. He opened his eyes and looked over to see a hazy image of Carina glaring at him as she fought with her bonds.

He glanced around the room, trying to get his eyes and his head to focus. Both were cloudy.

"Where are we?" he asked her quietly.

"We … don't … know …" grunted Carina as she struggled. She stopped to catch her breath, blowing a few strands of coppery hair from her face. "We were both unconscious until about ten minutes ago."

His eyes started to function a little better; he was able to see across the room to Casey. Predictably, Casey had an irritated and intense expression on his face. Chuck heard him mutter, "Idiots don't even know how to tie up a person."

"Somebody screwed up in our favor and you're complaining about it?"

"Bartowski … now is not the time." He shot Chuck a dirty look.

"All right, all right, I'm just saying…"

Casey went back to trying to free himself.

Examining his own bonds, he was surprised to find he could agree with Casey's assessment. He had been tied up several times now – a few times in the past four months and once during fraternity initiation – and he had to admit that the quality of the current job resembled the fraternity initiation far more than the other times.

Still, that didn't mean he had a clue how to free himself.

Chuck tried to manipulate his hands free of the rope, and was promptly rewarded with a rope burn across the inside of his left wrist. He decided he would be better off waiting for Casey or Carina to escape.

The two seemed to be racing to see who could get untied first; each checked the progress of the other from time to time as if to ensure they still were alive in their impromptu contest.

Unable to see how the agents were trying to free themselves, Chuck decided to look around the room instead. There wasn't much to see: a couple of chairs, a empty wooden table, and a few items covered in sheets. A thought occurred to him.

"Why'd they leave the lights on?" Chuck wondered aloud. Several canned lights were mounted in the ceiling, casting bright light on every inch of the room.

"Well, either they are trying to make sure that we're fully awake for an upcoming interrogation, or they're even more incompetent than I thought."

Carina added, "Or they want us awake so they can listen in on what we say."

Casey looked at her with an appreciative nod. "Good call. Watch what you say. Don't say anything that might be useful to them."

"So what's the plan?" Chuck asked.

Casey gave Chuck another dirty look.

"Right. Watch what we say. Got it."

He shook himself. He was still a little foggy from the lingering effects of the drug in his system, but that didn't explain why he felt … off. He felt more amateurish and less confident than usual.

Then it hit him: he missed Sarah.

It had never occurred to him that he might miss Sarah on the missions, but he did. The ragged preparation of the team and pairing with two agents with little patience for what he didn't know certainly didn't help put him in a good frame of mind, but what he really missed was the calming effect she had on him.

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend it was Sarah tied up next to him rather than Carina. It wasn't the same.

Casey gave a small cry of success, jerking Chuck from his meditations. Carina looked up, a little dismayed, until she realized that Casey had only managed to free a single foot.

"Hate to be a downer, Casey, but I'm not sure your right foot is going to do you any good."

"Depends where I want to put said foot. Besides, it's not about the foot, it's about the shoe."

Pressing his heel against the floor, he activated a mechanism inside the shoe. A dagger popped out of the toe.

Chuck's eyes bugged out. "You're kidding, right?

"Chuck, I'd recommend holding very still."

"Like I could move if I wanted to. Wait, why? What are you going to do?"

Casey used the other still bound foot to work the shoe to where it was hanging off his toes. He swung his leg back and forth. "Just hold still."

"Casey, that's a knife sticking out of your shoe…"

Casey sized up the distance between himself and the other agents. He kicked his leg.

Chuck yelped.

The shoe sailed across the room, impaling into the wall halfway between Carina and Chuck.

Chuck stared disbelievingly at the shoe, and then at Casey.

Carina managed to work her chair over to where her right hand could get a grip on the shoe. She pulled the shoe out of the wall by the heel and manipulated her chair to get a better angle on the ropes on Chuck's hands.

Chuck had just recovered from the shock when he felt Carina go to work on his ropes. Needing to distract himself from the backwards and nearly blind cutting routine Carina was doing so close to his wrists, he started talking. "Nice shot, Casey. Liked the Rosa Klebb routine. A request: if you're working through the gadgets of the Bond villains, I'd like you to do Oddjob next. For some reason, I can't picture you wearing a bowler hat. You'd probably look like a psychotic British butler."

"You want to see psychotic? Just keep up the inane babbling."

"Well, your options are the babbling or uncontrollable whimpering."

"I'd go with the babbling," Carina suggested as she sawed away at Chuck's ropes. "Besides, I prefer to be the cause of any uncontrollable whimpering."

"What I wouldn't give for a cyanide pill right about now," said Casey.

Carina finished cutting Chuck's hands loose. He rubbed the burns on his wrist gratefully. "Thanks."

"Um, Chuck?"

He didn't understand until she very obviously used her eyes to point to the shoe-dagger in her still-bound hands. "Oh. Right. Sorry." Chuck took the dagger and cut his feet free. He then went to work on Carina's ropes.

A minute later, her hands were free. He passed the shoe to Carina, who cut her own feet free. She went over to Casey, knelt down behind him, and began to cut him loose.

"Well, this feels different," grinned Carina. "Setting you free instead of tying you up."

"You really should have stuck around for that part. And what would have come before."

"Maybe next time."

"I think that ship has sailed."

"Aw, Casey. Giving up so easily?"

Chuck walked over to one of the windows; he was able to make out a few details. "We're in the attic of a house; looks like we're on the third story. The property overlooks the ocean, there is a ridiculous flower garden covering most of the yard, and I can see what looks like a stairway leading over the cliff to some other building."

"Sounds like we're at Veron's house," said Carina, finishing cutting Casey loose. "We staked out the place 24/7 for a month before Jennings yanked on the reins. Never saw or found anything suspicious."

"Speaking of ships sailing, does Veron own a big honking yacht?"

"Yep. Loves the thing. Takes it out all the time. Keeps it in a boathouse over the cliff."

"Then I think he's home." Out on the water, a 60- or 70-foot white yacht maneuvered its way towards shore. The well-lit boat smoothly navigated the mild surf towards the cliff. The boathouse swallowed the yacht as it pulled straight in.

Casey rubbed his wrists and ankles as he stood up. "Well, I don't particularly want to be here to find out what Veron had planned for us. What's say we figure a way out of here?"

**Scene LV – Venezuela, Back of Truck**

The truck drove down a relatively smooth dirt road at a moderate speed. Sarah quickly shook off her grogginess. If they were heading for Colombia, things were going to get very dangerous very quickly.

She and Bryce had discussed this possibility before her unintentional nap. Where they were, Route 6 passed within five miles of the border of Colombia. Odds were very good that their destination was over the border, which meant border guards. Weapons in the truck meant that the men in the cab wouldn't want anybody looking in the truck, which meant either the guards were friendly to the men in the cab or there was a bribe in store. Either way, the agents were better off staying put and riding across the border in the truck.

After they crossed the border was another issue. They would need to be quick on their feet. It was time to take stock of their assets and make a few modifications to the truck.

Pulling out a knife, Bryce proceeded to carve several "smiley faces" in the tough army-green canvas. The resultant semicircles ensured that each flap of canvas would remain in place until one of the agents lifted it. A hole would have been much more obvious to anyone looking, especially with their use of the flashlight in the dark of night.

Meanwhile, Sarah started going through the contents of the truck. She ferried various items between the truck bed and their bags.

After finishing his knife work, Bryce rearranged a few items to create places for them to hide, in case they were needed, and then began to help Sarah.

The bumpy road was a blessing and a curse: the noise from the bouncing tires and shocks helped to conceal what little noise they were making. However, each unexpected jolt threatened to knock each of them over, which could cause a much louder noise. Depending on where they fell, it could even create enough noise to alert the cab inhabitants.

About ten minutes after they turned, the truck subtly began to slow. The agents shot each other a look. Leaving what they were doing, the two moved to opposite sides of the truck and lifted their peephole covers.

Angling to adjust her view diagonally towards the front of the truck, Sarah could see little except the dim shadows of passing trees. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could sense manmade light reflecting off of insects and the moisture in the air as it escaped into the night sky.

They were approaching a border station.

Coming to the same conclusion, Bryce hissed, "Time to hide."

"Yep."

The agents quickly went to hiding spots he had created. Bryce had shifted two of the large sacks of flour forward to create a stack of three; this created an impromptu bunker for Sarah. She lay on her back behind the bags. A couple stacked coolers were far enough forward to give Bryce room to crouch unseen behind them. Anyone who actually climbed into the truck would find them, but they were counting on the border guards never looking inside.

Bryce pulled his gun out. After checking that Sarah was similarly ready, Bryce flicked off the flashlight.

The truck continued to slow. As they approached the guard station, spotlights wormed their way through the tiny slits they had cut in the canvas, providing a bit of light in the dark interior.

"Halt!" a rough, distant voice commanded in Spanish.

The truck rolled a few feet further forward before coming to a stop. The driver cut the engine, creating a welcome silence after the constant whining of the truck engine. Sarah and Bryce strained to listen.

Two sets of footsteps crunched louder and louder as they approached the truck from the front. The pace was slow; the guards were either lazy or cautious.

"What is your business in Colombia?" a voice on the driver's side challenged.

"We're just bringing some food back to our village," came the reply from the driver's seat of the cab.

There was a long pause.

"Where is José?" the other man in the cab asked.

"He is not here tonight. He may not be back."

Bryce and Sarah exchanged looks. Sarah was worried. _If the men driving the truck were expecting their contact to get them through…_

The footsteps resumed on either side of the truck. The guards were working their way towards the back.

Sarah's tension grew; she focused. She forced herself to breathe easily.

The footsteps approached the back of the truck. Somehow, they seemed louder than they were before.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

There was a scuffling of adjusting feet as the two guards positioned themselves by the back flaps.

Sarah nodded to Bryce, who nodded back. She prepared herself for action.

The passenger-side door squeaked open, and a pair of feet hit the ground. Walking back along the truck, the man said, "There's really no need to open up the truck, is there? We only have food back there."

"We have to check every vehicle that comes through here. You must know that."

"And how many have anything? It's just a waste of your time."

"Well, what do you suggest?"

"Normally, I would offer to pour you two a drink and toast your dedication, but I don't have anything with me. What if, instead, I left you with some money so you can buy yourselves a drink when your shift is over? Would this cover it?"

There was a rustling of paper, and the sound of bills being fanned apart.

The guard's voice sounded friendlier. "Yes, I think this would cover a drink or two. We accept your kind offer."

"Excellent."

The three sets of footsteps moved back around the truck. As the man climbed back into the cab, he said, "We appreciate your vigilance; you can't be too careful these days."

"So true. We wish you good journeys."

The two guards walked off. The engine rumbled. A moment later, the truck lurched forward.

The angle of the slivers of light sneaking into the truck shifted as they passed by the station. Slowly, the truck came back up to speed.

Sarah allowed herself a quiet exhale. For better or worse, they were in Colombia.

**Scene LVI – California, White Room**

Casey sat back down in his chair and started to slip his foot back into the shoe.

Chuck watched him with a perverse fascination. "Tell me that thing wasn't poisoned," he said. "At least then I could feel a little better about how close your little parlor trick came to knifing me in the ribs."

"I don't give away trade secrets, Chuck. Besides, I could do that ten times in a row and not come close to hitting you. Watch."

Grasping the sides of his chair seat with his hands, he worked his foot back out of the shoe and took a couple of practice swings of the leg. With a quick flip of the leg, the shoe flew across the room again.

It impaled in the center of Chuck's chair, right about where the center of his chest would have been.

Chuck paled noticeably, picturing what would have happened.

Casey let out an evil chuckle, extraordinarily pleased with himself.

"You did that on purpose."

He got up and headed for Chuck's chair. "See? Nothing to worry about."

Carina said, "If playtime is over, I'd really like to focus on getting out of here before Veron gets here."

After retrieving his shoe, Casey sat down and slipped it on. "I'm on it." After retracting the dagger on the one shoe, Casey took off his other shoe and opened up a false heel. Inside was a small set of lock picks.

"You don't happen to have a sandwich in there, too, do you?" Chuck asked. "I'm about to die of hunger."

"Laugh all you want, but the only reason we're getting out of here is because one of us planned ahead. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

Carina smirked. "Too bad there's no cure for that stick up your ass."

Casey stared her down. "I don't see you two doing anything other than riding my coattails. Do something useful like checking under those sheets back there."

Casey went over to the door; he knelt down and went to work with the lock picks. Carina and Chuck started looking under the sheets.

"What's this?" Carina asked. "Painting supplies?"

Sure enough, the sheets covered an easel, a stool and a number of canvases. A box of paints and paint brushes was pushed into the back corner.

Chuck shook his head. "So, we're in Veron's hobby room. The hobbies? Painting and interrogation of federal agents."

Carina pulled out a large canvas containing a portrait of Veron that was obviously a work in progress. The face was done enough to show his tan and his extraordinarily white teeth. He had obviously taken a few other liberties with his visage, including fewer wrinkles, vibrantly green eyes and dark hair. "Man, this guy does not lack a good opinion of himself."

Finding nothing else of interest, Chuck walked back over to Casey, who was obviously struggling. "Problem?" Chuck asked.

"Can't get the damn thing to unlock," Casey responded, gritting his teeth with effort.

Chuck reached over him and turned the door knob. The door swung inwards.

Casey turned to glare at Chuck.

"Hey, I'm just riding your coattails, big guy."

**Scene LVII – Cab of Truck**

Enrique Castaño breathed a sigh of relief as the truck cleared the border. He hadn't counted on José not being at his regular post; luckily, the new guards had accepted the normal bribe. It wouldn't have been good to have legitimate border guards discover what they were carrying.

The truck thundered alternately through woods and fields. He put his window down, enjoying the feel of the wind on his face.

It felt good to be home. He had played in these woods as a child, and while he knew as well as anyone just how dangerous they could be, they felt comfortable and familiar.

He would be glad to get to their destination. Something had been bothering him all night, like a prickling on the back of his neck. His instincts had kept him alive many times, and he made it a point to always trust them. However, he didn't know what those instincts were trying to tell him.

He had carefully watched all the way from Ejido for signs he was being followed, and while he had been passed by a number of cars, most of the drive was spent without a car within a kilometer of him. He must be getting paranoid in his old age. He chuckled, running a hand through his thinning hair. In his business, his forty-plus years definitely qualified as old age.

Recognizing the shadow of a tall forked tree at the end of the clearing, he realized that they were only a few hundred yards from the compound. He smiled. "Give the signal," he ordered.

The driver toggled the headlights on and off in a specific pattern, then repeated the pattern to be sure it was seen correctly.

They crossed the clearing and passed beneath the forked tree into the woods. He located one of the two hidden guards keeping watch over the dirt road. "Jimenez," he acknowledged through his window with a mock salute. The man gave him the slightest of smiles before returning to his watch. Guard duty was taken very seriously in the Colombian wilderness; fail to take it seriously, and people died, and the guards died first.

Fear and survival were powerful motivators.

The flickering light of a large fire slipped its ways between the trees, growing brighter as the number of intervening trees decreased. They passed the last few trees into a clearing.

The 'compound' wasn't any type of building; that would have been too easily noticed by the patrol planes and the satellites of the damned Americans. In actuality, the compound was just a clearing surrounded by a ring of trees providing some measure of defense. Two three-room farm houses, appropriated from local farmers some months ago, acted as storage and bunkhouses.

Thirty or so armed men, dressed in fatigues, bandanas, and whatever other assortment of clothing they had cobbled together, let out a cheer. Castaño smiled. The paramilitaries would be equally excited about the weapons and the food; they hadn't had any meat for several days, and the alcohol wouldn't hurt, either.

Castaño directed the driver towards the farmhouse on the near side of the clearing; he positioned the back of the truck facing the fire to provide light during unloading. After the truck parked, Castaño hopped out and joined in the cheers of the men. He knew what it felt like to go without for so long.

"Come, help me unload!" he said joyfully, drinking in the smiles of the men. Moments of high morale were rare and something to be savored. He cleared out of the way to allow the others to see what he had brought.

A couple dozen men swarmed to the back of the truck. Some slung their rifles over their shoulders; some had discarded their weapons for the moment, leaning them against rocks and logs and tree stumps.

One of the men, a leader within the group from his dress and the way the other men deferred to him, untied the flaps. The other men eagerly gathered behind him to see the supplies. The man threw open the back of the truck. His eyes widened.

"What is this?" he demanded with an angry expression.

Castaño, surprised by the tone, walked over to the truck. "What?" he asked.

He looked into the truck. It was full of supplies and groceries. A few things had shifted during transit, but other than that, everything looked good.

The speaker reached into the truck and pulled out a portable rocket launcher. He looked back at Castaño. Suddenly, he was unable to keep up the pretense, and his face broke into a broad grin. The leader had been having some fun with Castaño.

The men cheered again, and Castaño's face joined in the smiles.

The leader dropped the launcher and threw an arm around Castaño, giving him a half hug as he guided him away from the cheering men. "Come, we have much to talk about."

One or two men close to the truck hopped in to help unload to the waiting hands of the other men.

* * *

Out at the edge of the clearing, Jimenez wistfully heard the cheers of the men in the camp. He hated that he couldn't join in the celebrating: a bottle of alcohol would be opened and passed around, a real meal would be cooked over the fire, and a general celebration would ensue. However, he had drawn one of the short straws and had guard duty for several more hours.

He resisted the urge to look back at the camp. The flickering firelight that managed to find its way through the trees would ruin his night vision for a few minutes, and the men were counting on him to keep watch on the road.

Despite being fully alert, he never heard the catlike footsteps of the black-masked woman. He never saw the intensity in her blue eyes. He never really felt the sharp knife crossing his neck. All he felt was a sudden draining of his strength and a strong arm guiding his body to the ground. All he saw was a descent into a far greater darkness than the night. All he heard was his last breath gently hissing from his lungs.

Sarah looked across the road at Bryce as he laid his guard onto the ground and wiped his knife on his victim's clothes. As quietly as they could, the pair hid the bodies of the two guards and went to retrieve their bags, disappearing into the depths of the dark woods.


	18. Expect the Unexpected

**Scene LVIII – California, Veron's Residence**

After a hasty conversation, Chuck and the two agents left the room, quietly shutting the door behind them. They were in a short hallway, with doors to their left and right and a set of stairs straight ahead.

Hoping they might find some of their gear in one of the neighboring rooms, Carina took a look in the left room while Casey checked out the right.

Chuck stood in the hallway by himself, feeling useless.

The two agents quickly returned, both shaking their heads.

Carina went first down the hardwood stairs, her lighter weight making it less likely any creak would be heard. She listened at the door at the bottom of the stairs, and quickly signaled for the other two to join her.

Casey went next, lightly placing his feet along the edges of the staircase and making no noise. Chuck emulated Casey's style if not his results: the stairs let out a couple of creaks, causing Chuck to stop in his tracks each time.

Carina decided that there was no point in waiting for Chuck to finish descending the stairs. She gave Casey a look; Casey's face reflected disagreement, but she opened the door anyway.

Carina and Casey jumped into the hallway facing opposite directions.

Nothing. After looking both directions, the two agents disappeared around the door to the right.

Chuck hurried down the stairs, not worrying as much about the noise as catching up with Carina and Casey. He came around the door.

He froze. Carina and Casey were gone. There were several doors, all cracked open, and a stairwell heading down to the left.

"Casey? Carina?" Chuck hissed.

A long moment passed. Casey finally peeked his head out of the stairway. "You coming? Or did you want a minute to admire the décor?"

Chuck moved over to him. "How was I supposed to know where you went?"

Casey worked his way down the stairs; Chuck again tried to emulate him. "Gee, I don't know: we have no weapons, we're on hostile turf, and the guy who had us drugged and captured is heading this way. I'd say getting out of here is the pretty obvious move."

Again, a closed door awaited them at the bottom of the stairs. Carina pulled her ear off the door and shook her head in the negative as the other two joined her.

"First floor: hardware, children's wear, lady's lingerie," Chuck joked quietly.

Casey shook his head in disgust, but Chuck thought he saw the corners of Carina's mouth turn up the slightest bit.

She swung the door open.

Again, silence. Nobody was there.

"This is too easy," muttered Casey.

"What, it was too easy to trigger a hidden dagger in your shoe, flip it across the room where Carina could retrieve it and cut my ropes off?" Chuck asked. He paused. "Now that you mention it, it was kind of easy once we got out of the ropes."

"Exactly. Be alert. Veron can't be this stupid."

The closest exit was at the back of the fancy kitchen through a butler's pantry towards the side of the house. Casey got their first; peering through the window in the door, he saw nothing but the dark driveway. He opened the door and the three agents went outside, looking for the quickest way off the property.

The lights on the driveway came on.

The three froze.

"I'd hold still if I were you."

Looking towards the shore, they saw Veron flanked by two men, both pointing pistols at them.

"Damnit, Carina, I really didn't think you were this stupid."

The voice didn't come from Veron or his men. The three turned around to see Representative Jennings with two Secret Service men, the agents' pistols also drawn.

**Scene LIX – Colombia, Compound**

Inside the camp, the celebration had begun. Several bottles of liquor had been opened and were passed around; men standing around the fire took long draughts directly from a bottle before passing it to the next man. There was some grumbling that no women had been brought in, but it was nothing an extra drink or two couldn't fix.

The bulk of the food and all the equipment were being ferried into the closest house. Again, there was some grumbling that the new gear wouldn't be handed out right away, but the lieutenant insisted. He was certainly smart enough to know that alcohol and new firearms was a bad combination.

Besides, it wasn't the lieutenant's place to make those kinds of the decisions. The person who was to make that decision was walking with Castaño towards a corner of the clearing where nobody could over hear them. At least, where they thought nobody could overhear them.

Sarah and Bryce moved like ghosts through the woods. Their footsteps and their breathing made no sound. Their passage went unnoticed.

They crept to the edge of the clearing. From the cover of large bush, they quickly spotted the man who interested them. Sarah gave Bryce a series of hand signals: the two needed to get closer to those men.

He nodded his agreement. The two slipped away from the camp and made their way towards Castaño and the paramilitary leader.

In the back of her mind, Sarah was surprised how easily moving silently through the thick underbrush came back. Then again, plenty of things seemed to come back easily. She had slit the guard's throat and disposed of the body, too.

Her stomach felt a little queasy at the thought. Maybe it all didn't come back quite as easily as she thought. She needed to get out of her head.

Sarah let her training take over, and her focus was restored. Without really thinking, she shadowed Bryce through the trees, carefully placing her feet where they would make the least noise. The two half-walked, half-jogged to get them to where they could eavesdrop on the conversation.

After a seemingly interminable amount of time, the two finally crept within forty feet of the two men, who were sitting on large tree stumps at the very edge of the clearing. They separated themselves by about forty feet as well; that way, if one of them was seen, the other could still act.

Sarah strained to hear to the leaders talking, but with the whooping and boisterous laughter coming from the fire, it was impossible to make out more than a word or two. She would need to get closer. Unfortunately, the trees were thinner here for some reason, which made getting closer even riskier. It was a risk they needed to take.

Dropping to her stomach, Sarah crawled carefully through the underbrush, moving forward slightly and then freezing to check that she hadn't been heard. Her progress was painfully slow; it took nearly five minutes to get fifteen feet closer.

Finally, she found she was close enough to make out what was being said.

"So, things are going well?" the leader asked.

"Very well. Sales are up, our distribution is well-placed, and there is plenty of money to be made."

"Good. And the brothers are well?"

"The brothers are good. They still enjoy the game, and their minds are still sharp. This deal that they struck with the Americans will only help."

"I must confess that I still do not understand this plan, Castaño. How does it work?"

Sarah's heart exulted. They had finally arrived at a meeting in time to overhear everything.

She was so enthralled that she hadn't noticed as something dry and scaly had wormed its way under the right cuff of her pants.

Noticing that something felt out of place, she looked down and stifled a scream. In the gloomy darkness, the tail of a snake twitched as its body slithered up her leg.

**Scene LX – California, Veron's Residence**

Jennings walked up to Carina, Casey and Chuck, giving them all evil looks. After a moment, he chose to focus on Carina. "Didn't I tell you what would happen if you bothered Mr. Veron again? I thought I told you to leave him the hell alone."

Chuck was confused. The three of them had been chased, drugged, kidnapped, and tied up. How could he see this as their fault?

"I'd like to know why you ended up on Mr. Veron's property not four hours after I made it very, very clear what would happen to you three should you bother him again."

Carina answered, "Sir, I'm not sure what you've been told, but we're not exactly here by choice."

"What do you mean?"

"We were kidnapped, sir."

Jennings stared at her in disbelief. "So, let me get this straight, because I'm a bit slow. Your agency has been chasing Mr. Veron for years. You have accused him of drug trafficking, money laundering, and a host of other crimes. Yet despite spending countless taxpayer dollars, you and your fellow agents have found absolutely nothing. Now you have the temerity to accuse him of kidnapping?"

Carina's eyes flared. She was about to make an angry retort, but Casey touched her gently on the arm and subtly shook his head. Reluctantly, she took a deep breath and moderated her response. "Yes, sir, because that is exactly what happened. You have my word on that."

Jennings, a man who was in the business of judging other people's motives and intentions, found it difficult to question her word or her sincerity. Backing off a bit, he asked, "Why would Mr. Veron do that? It makes no sense."

Casey said, "I agree it makes no sense. I don't understand it myself. However, if you'd like, we could take you upstairs and show you where we were held."

Jennings frowned, looking over at Veron. Veron appeared supremely confident, which seemed to convince Jennings. He spoke to himself more than anyone else, as if trying to figure things out. "I just don't understand how you would end up here. It was made clear what would happen to you if you were found investigating Veron."

Casey smiled. "You make a terrific point. To borrow your own words, why would we do that?"

Jennings clearly wasn't expecting that response. He didn't have a good answer.

"Why don't we just go upstairs and take a look? We can resolve this in a minute."

The representative was clearly at a loss. He looked at Veron, who shrugged.

"Why not?" Veron said. "I've got nothing to hide."

Chuck became uneasy at Veron's tone. He certainly didn't appear to be uneasy about the prospect of everyone heading back up to the attic. He looked over at Casey, whose face reflected the same uneasiness.

Jennings directed a calculating look at Veron before saying, "OK, let's go take a look. Mr. Carmichael?" he said, sweeping his arm towards the door.

The nine of them made their way upstairs, forced to march up the stairs single file because of the narrow passageways.

Casey did find time to ask Jennings a question on the way up. "One thing puzzles me, Congressman. Why were you down here in the middle of the night?"

"One of Veron's security alerted him that there were intruders and specifically identified Agent Carina. Veron called me from his boat. My bodyguards drove me down."

"Really. You must have made very good time."

"The Secret Service can do that, as I'm sure you're quite aware."

"Quite."

Casey arrived at the attic door. He opened it.

Inside, nearly all traces of their captivity were gone. The four beat-up chairs surrounded the wooden table in the center of the room. The portrait of Veron rested on the easel in the corner, the painter's stool and box of supplies on the floor nearby. The sheets acted as a tarp under the painting and stool; a few other canvases remained under sheets in a corner.

Casey and Carina knelt down on the floor where they had been tied up. They could find no traces of the rope they had sawed off their hands. The only signs that they had been tied up was the deep gash in the wall caused by Casey's shoe and the burns on their wrists.

"Well, Mr. Carmichael?" Jennings asked in an ominous voice. "There doesn't seem to be anything here but a painting studio."

Carina and Casey were speechless. They had been outsmarted.

"You see?!" Veron shouted. "You found nothing. There is nothing here. There is nothing anywhere on this property. You could search this property top to bottom and you would find what you found here: absolutely nothing."

Carina suggested, "I'd like to take you up on that offer."

"Don't push your luck, Agent Carina," Jennings growled.

"No, no, that's an excellent idea," Veron responded hotly. "Search the entire property. Mr. Jennings and his men can be impartial witnesses, and they can report what you do not find. I'll give you an hour to look anywhere you want to look."

"You don't have to do this, Mr. Veron. You've been through enough."

"No, after the trouble I've been through, I'll spare one more hour if it means that they will leave me alone after this. However, I will expect a formal apology from all three agents when they are done, and a promise from their agencies that I will never be bothered again."

"I can make that assurance on behalf of the NSA," Casey said, looking at Carina. That made sense: the NSA didn't even have a file on the case. The question was whether the DEA would make the same offer.

Sensing that it was her call, Carina stared at Veron for a long moment. She looked like she was going to back off, but Veron gave her a supremely arrogant look and that pushed her buttons. "I can make that assurance for the DEA as well."

Chuck swallowed hard. The stakes were high for her.

Casey asked, "Mind if we call in some help? It's a big property."

Veron shrugged. "I don't care, but my original offer stands: you have one hour."

Casey walked to the window overlooking the front of the house. He opened the window and gave an incredibly loud whistle and a wave. Headlights out on the street turned on and an engine started. A high-powered sedan drove up to the front of the house; a man and a woman got out. "NSA," she said, holding up badges.

Leaning out the window, Casey said, "C'mon in, guys." He pulled himself back in and shut the window.

Carina asked Casey, "Let me guess: transmitter in your shoe?"

He shrugged. "Nobody ever thinks to check the shoes."

She smiled, but she wasn't about to be outdone. She asked, "Chuck, mind watching the water?" She walked over to the light switch.

Puzzled, Chuck stared out the window.

Carina flipped the light on and off in some kind of pattern. After a moment, three answering flashes came from a darkened boat out on the water. The running lights came on, and the boat started moving towards shore. "There's a boat coming in," Chuck reported.

Casey walked over to Carina. "Transmitter in your shoe?"

"Nobody ever thinks to check the shoes," Carina answered in a caricature of Casey's voice.

"Did you actually make a contingency plan?"

"What can I say; I'm an enigma."

Jennings pulled a hand out of his pocket and checked his watch. "Fifty-seven minutes, agents. I suggest you get moving."

All three of them checked their watches. It was now a race against time.


	19. Revelations

**Scene LXI – Colombia, Compound**

_The story involves the following real people/groups:_

_Hugo Chavez – president of Venezuela, denouncer of the USA_

_AUC – right-wing paramilitary group in Colombia._

_FARC – left-wing Marxist revolutionary guerilla group in Colombia_

_ELN – another left-wing revolutionary guerilla group in Colombia_

_Los Mellizos – twin brothers that run a major drug operation in Colombia_

_More information is available on Wikipedia, for the curious. It should go without saying that while this story uses some real-life characters and groups, none is this is based upon actual events._

It was all Sarah could do not to jump up and scream. Training was training, but when a possibly poisonous snake decided to nest in your pant leg, emotions take over. For the moment, her training won out; she remained still.

The snake stopped moving. The tongue flicked out against her leg, tickling and terrifying in equal amounts. She breathed. The best thing she could do, on every level, was hold still. She listened, trying to distract herself.

"We have an arrangement with a group of American agents that has broken off with their government. With us, they asked to be known by the code name 'Silent Shout', but one of them slipped and identified themselves as 'Fulcrum'. They wish two things: to be able to deliver money to their people without being traced, and to see Chavez out of power in Venezuela."

"Obviously, the AUC wishes to see Chavez gone as well. His support of FARC and ELN is a constant thorn in our side."

"Which is why they approached our cartel. They knew of our alliance with you."

"But what do Los Mellizos get out of the deal?"

"A large part of the deal is that we don't need to move all of our money from our cocaine sales out of the U.S. Two of our distributors take the profits and deliver it to the Fulcrum agents in cash. In turn, Moreno gives us money here. It is much safer for us. In effect, the American government launders our money for us!"

"I love it. I really do."

The snake slipped further up Sarah's leg. The tail rested against her ankle. The tongue flicked against the side of her knee, causing her to squirm slightly, her face scrunched up in silent agony.f

Bryce looked over, alarmed. The two men hadn't noticed, but he had. Very carefully and deliberately, he brought his bag around to his side and began to remove several items.

"They have also given us funds to help us equip your men. It is Fulcrum money that has paid for the new equipment I brought with me tonight."

"So tell me what they expect from us in return."

"There is a political event in San Cristobal in three weeks. They wish for your men to act as FARC would act and kidnap some key people. Fulcrum will provide us with the codes that FARC uses to contact media organizations to claim responsibility for terrorist acts; this will allow us to claim that FARC is no longer supporting Chavez and is expanding their operations to Venezuela."

"Surely the regular FARC contacts will speak up."

"True, but enough doubt will be cast to make people wonder. The agents assure us that, should it become necessary, they can set it up to ensure FARC takes the blame for the kidnappings."

"Then what?"

"Then they take out Chavez, and the country is thrown into chaos. COPEI steps up and hopefully assumes control."

"You say hopefully. It isn't a sure thing?"

"There's a good chance, but it's not a certainty. However, won't Venezuela be a better place if it's not under Chavez's rule?"

"Not if he's a martyr."

"That's why his death will be of natural causes. Or so it will seem. With some of the other key political figures missing, it will be easier for COPEI to assume control. Then, when they negotiate the release of the prisoners…" His grin held all kinds of implications.

The lieutenant grinned back. He clasped Castaño on the shoulder. "It might work. It might not, but it might just work. Either way, Chavez will be gone."

The snake was on the move again; it slithered up her thigh.

Sarah couldn't take it any more.

She jumped to her feet, reached down into her pants, and yanked the snake out by the neck.

She threw it in a high arc away from her and Bryce.

She pulled out her gun.

The snake landed in a pile of brush, making a distinct, loud noise.

She froze, desperately hoping the shadows would hide her.

The two men jumped to their feet, both pulling out their guns and holding them towards the woods.

"What was that?" the AUC leader asked intently. The two started scanning the trees.

The leader saw Sarah. Sarah saw him see her.

He opened his mouth to yell a warning.

Sarah shot him in the forehead.

Castaño and every man in the camp turned at the sound of the gunshot. They saw the leader tip over, landing flat on his back, arms limp at his side.

It was then that Bryce detonated the bomb.

The house exploded in a giant, glorious fireball, taking the entire house, the cargo truck, and about ten men with it. Another dozen men lay writhing on the ground, either injured or stunned from the blast.

Pieces of the house and its contents, many of them flaming, rained down over the clearing. Several trees branches near the house either cradled burning wreckage or had simply caught fire.

Castaño crouched down behind his tree stump for cover, looking around wildly to see the result of the explosion and try to locate their attackers. AUC soldiers stumbled around, dazed, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

Sarah looked questioningly at Bryce. She didn't have a shot on Castaño.

He signaled to her from his knees. _Withdraw._

She agreed. _Affirmative._

Bryce stood and made an underhand lob towards the stump where Castaño hid. Hearing the object land near him, Castaño turned and ran. He dove onto the ground.

He was surprised to find out there was no explosion.

Castaño stood up and looked back into the woods. He saw a pair of shadows move.

He fired twice.

The shadows were gone.

The lieutenant ran over. "What is it? What do you see?"

"I saw something. Over there."

The two men stared into the woods, trying to ignore the cries and the angry shouts of the men behind them. The flames of the explosion simply made it too difficult to hear, and they saw nothing.

Castaño and the lieutenant walked over to the fallen leader. The shot had taken him dead center in the forehead.

The lieutenant became emotional. "What do we do now?" he practically begged.

"You're in charge, now," Castaño said sadly. "You can handle it."

Turning around, the lieutenant nearly tripped over something on the ground. Looking down curiously, he picked up the object.

It was a detonator, and it had just been activated.

Staring accusingly at Castaño, he suddenly became very cold as he raised his gun. "I think I know what my first decision is."

Castaño held up a hand in protest.

--

Several hundred yards away, Bryce and Sarah heard a single gunshot as they exited the unguarded side of the clearing. Bryce immediately knew what it was.

It was the sound of an alliance being dissolved.

**Scene LXII – California, Veron Property, Boathouse**

Veron flipped on the light. The large group filed into the boathouse, the last place on the property the agents had yet to search. Their time was almost up; they had to hope to find something in the boathouse.

Unlike the rest of the property, the boathouse was a simple but serviceable enclosed structure in bad need of a new paint job. A six-foot wide dock ran the entire length of one side of the interior. Several lockers were grouped together in the middle of the wall, and a pair of matching floor-to-ceiling cabinets was built into the back wall.

The white boat Chuck had seen from the upstairs window was tethered relatively tightly to the dock, the prow facing towards the two doors leading to the open water. It was a large craft, so large that the tight tethering was needed to keep the boat from knocking against the far wall.

Veron apparently had expensive tastes in yachts; this one was a beauty. There were two living areas, a kitchen with granite countertops, three sleeping quarters with private, if tiny, bathrooms, two bunkrooms for crew, and enough luxury appointments to keep a Hilton sister happy. No wonder he had ridden up to Jennings' party in it; it sure beat strapping into a car.

Casey, Chuck and Carina started going through the boat with help from the four DEA agents, looking for any place that the four men might be hiding, or anything that might indicate some type of drug trafficking. Nothing above or below decks suggested anything more than a comfortable boat used for fishing or just relaxing out on the open water.

Carina had a DEA agent bring a drug-sniffing dog on board to scout the boat as well. The dog, like the agents, was able to find nothing suspicious.

When they were about through, Casey slid over to Chuck as they went through a small sleeping chamber in the below decks. "Flash on anything?" he asked quietly, a tinge of desperation evident in his voice.

Chuck shook his head. He had felt nothing remotely indicating any type of flash.

Casey's face fell. They had nothing.

This was going to be ugly.

The three agents trudged out of the boat with defeated expressions, balanced by the smug expression worn by Veron and the angry expression worn by Jennings.

"So, Agent Carina, let me see if I can sum things up for you," Jennings began. "First, you come to my home to accuse my friend here. After I kick you out, you make up a story about being drugged and kidnapped by masked men and brought to Veron's estate. Despite the ridiculous charges, Veron lets you explore the entire property, exposing no evidence of either the kidnapping or the drug trafficking. Have I got that about right?"

Casey looked at the other agents; they all shrugged helplessly or looked away.

Refusing to fully surrender, Casey put on a sarcastic smile and said, "You forgot the part where you were the alibi for the drug trafficker while we were kidnapped."

Apparently, Casey was going to make one last attempt to anger Jennings into some sort of mistake. He certainly succeeded in getting Jennings angrier, something Chuck didn't think was possible. He seethed, "You think this is funny?! You don't seem to realize how many different ways you are in trouble. Trespassing, false allegations, entrapment, …"

Chuck walked towards the back of the boathouse, the only empty part of the dock. He was desperate to get away from the sinking feeling out of the pit of his stomach. He tried to tune out the argument behind him with only partial success.

"…yet you keep defending this guy …" Carina said.

He tried to block them out again.

"… the most unprofessional group of agents …" Jennings yelled at Casey.

He needed something else to think about.

He opened up the cabinets at the back. They were completely empty; only a few long, thin pieces of cardboard and some other refuse sat on the shelf. Nothing there.

What were they missing?

He turned around to look at the back of the boat. He had walked back here before so he could try to flash on the name, "Undaunted", or the registration number; he tried again. Still nothing.

He sighed. The flash had told him that Veron was guilty; they had just been outsmarted.

Chuck let his mind wander, wondering how much a yacht like this went for. The thing was enormous. He wasn't a sea-going person, but he imagined it was difficult to get the boat backwards into the boathouse, especially into that narrow space …

Wait a minute … when he watched the boat come into shore, the boat had come in forwards! He had seen it from the attic window.

How had it turned around? He supposed it was possible that somebody had moved it while they were searching the house, but why would somebody back out the boat just to pull it back in?

Concealing his excitement and moving slowly, he turned around to look back at the group and searched out one face in particular: Veron's. The smug look was gone, even as he focused on the dressing-down Jennings was delivering to Casey. Chuck waited a moment longer.

Sure enough, Veron's eyes flickered his direction.

He was nervous.

Chuck's heart beat a little faster. He examined the back wall of the boathouse as best he could from the edge of the dock. The wall was built of loosely overlapping boards; if there was any kind of door there, it was certainly well-concealed.

He walked slowly back over to the cabinets, and tried to look behind them. They were built flush into the wall.

"Hasn't this charade gone on far enough?!" Veron demanded in an angry voice. He closed in on Chuck.

Chuck ignored him, examining the slight gap between the two cabinets. He picked up one of the longer pieces of cardboard and, starting at the floor, ran it upwards between the two cabinets, pressing the cardboard as far through as he could.

Veron was incensed that Chuck had ignored him. The other group turned to look at Veron as he looked back at Jennings. "I want these people out of my home. Now!"

The cardboard encountered resistance just below the fourth shelves of the matching cabinets.

Jennings stepped forward asked Chuck, "Agent, hasn't your team embarrassed yourselves enough for one day?"

Chuck reached into the two cabinets and ran his hands along the inside wall of each, just under the fourth shelf. His probing fingers found what they were seeking.

Chuck's face lit up. "Yes, I think we have."

He pushed the button that he had found, releasing a latch holding the two bookcases together with an audible click. With a gentle pull, he swung the cabinets towards him; they silently pivoted on their hidden hinges.

Behind the cabinets was a dimly lit passageway carved out of the rock; it opened onto a ledge further down. He saw a well-lit cave wall in the distance, and he heard the sounds of water lapping against solid objects in the distance.

The DEA agents excitedly pushed past the other people on the dock when they saw what Chuck had discovered. Chuck stepped to the side, allowing the agents to gather around the opening.

"What in the world is that?" Veron asked with a nervous chuckle, looking at Jennings. He obviously hoped for some kind of rescue.

Jennings' face went completely blank; he showed no emotion one way or the other.

The first DEA agent took a step into the tunnel. He pushed another button he found there.

The back of the boathouse split down the middle as it swung backwards into a large watery passage with a large pool at the end. In the distance, the passage gave way to the brightly lit cave. A white yacht, identical down to the name and the registration number on the back of the boat, was tethered at the edge of a large grotto.

Carina walked over to face Veron. "Gosh, I really, really hope it's not cave holding a large stash of cocaine. That would be tough to explain."

Unseen men started to shout excitedly in Spanish as the large doors finished swinging inwards, essentially opening up the entire waterway into a cave.

Casey stuck his hand out to the closer NSA agent, who immediately handed him a gun. He took two steps over to Veron and pointed the gun at his heart. "If any of those men fire a single shot," he said with a smile, "so will I."

Veron's face turned ashen. He looked desperately at Jennings for help. The representative kept the curiously blank expression in place on his face, staring at the passage Chuck had discovered.

The shouts of the men in the cave grew more agitated. Casey poked Veron in the chest with the muzzle. "Hmm, sounds like they might be thinking about doing something foolish. Care to do anything about that?"

Realizing Jennings wasn't going to help him, Veron bellowed a command in Spanish. When the shouts of the men sounded more questioning, he shouted the same command, only more assertively. The men in the cave quieted down.

Casey smiled at Carina. "I think your guys can go in there now."

Carina nodded at the lead DEA agent, who was clearly waiting for her command. The agents rushed into the cave, issuing orders to whomever they found in both English and Spanish.

Chuck exchanged huge grins with Carina and Casey. It looked as though Jamie Limelight was going to get as much press as he ever could have wanted.


	20. Back to Reality

**Scene LXIII – Buy More**

_Coffee. Need coffee._

Chuck slogged back to the break room. He had managed to show up for his morning shift only late by about twenty minutes. Since Morgan clocked him in and Big Mike was pulling his hermit routine in his office, nobody had even noticed.

He was exhausted. He'd only managed about two hours of sleep before he absolutely had to get up and go to work. He was also suffering through the after-effects of the drugging and the massive flash-induced headache. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck – and then the truck had backed up and run over him one more time for good measure. At least his headache was finally fading.

Luckily, a new pot of coffee awaited him in the break room, along with another surprise: Magnolia Bakery cupcakes. Somebody had brought in a baker's dozen.

Chuck forwent the usual sugar and cream in his coffee and instead grabbed a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting. He might regret it later when the sugar buzz wore off, but right now he just didn't care. He took a giant bite.

He groaned with happiness as he savored the sweet goodness before heading back to the Nerd Herd desk. Hopefully he could coast through the day off the sugar rush and the success of the previous night.

The discovery had been absolutely huge: the DEA agents had estimated the value of the cocaine at somewhere between 10 and 15 million dollars. Depending on the final value, it was likely to rank as one of the largest cocaine busts in California history. They had also found nearly two million dollars in cash, which presented a bit of a mystery: with that much cocaine, where had all the cash gone? The DEA agents were clearly puzzled.

For once, Chuck looked forward to the debriefing that night. Carina had beamed at him every time the two locked eyes, and even Casey had given him a genuine smile. He just wished Sarah could have been there to see his success. While he was proud, it just didn't seem to mean as much without her there.

Reaching the Nerd Herd desk, he noticed Lester typing something on the computer. He was intensely focused, which just wasn't right. Rather than call him on it, he asked, "Where's Jeff?"

Lester nodded his head back behind him.

Chuck was confused. There wasn't anyone back there.

He leaned over the counter of the desk, his feet rising off the ground. Jeff lay prone on the floor practically underneath the desk, head facing one side and eyes mostly closed. Chuck's expression became amused.

"What's going on, big guy?"

"Man, Lisa's wearing me out. We had sex six times in the last thirty-six hours. Not even a trained government agent could top that."

"Yeah, the staggering amount of alcohol you two consumed might be the real reason for the hangover," Lester added. He sounded jealous, although probably not about the drinking.

"Could you guys keep it down?" Jeff begged.

"Sorry. Wouldn't want to interrupt your nap with some actual work."

Lester was definitely jealous if he was using work to call out Jeff. If Jeff were, well, conscious, he would have sensed that. Chuck dropped off the counter back onto his feet. He picked up his coffee and cupcake.

Jeff and Lester weren't the only team with their struggles. Chuck, Casey, and Carina had gotten away with one last night. The planning had been terrible, and their efforts had backfired. They were outsmarted nearly every step of the way. The mission had only turned into a success because Chuck happened to see the boat pull forward into the boathouse and had figured out what that meant. That, along with the contingency plans made by Casey and Carina, were the only differences between a huge success and an utter failure.

That only made him miss Sarah more than ever. She was the glue that held the team together. Casey was too erratic and unwilling to compromise, and Chuck was too inexperienced and timid, to put the latter mildly. Granted, Carina was an extreme case as a replacement, but taking away Sarah and inserting another agent onto the team just hadn't worked very well.

His daydreaming allowed Morgan to sneak up on him. "Do you ever have the feeling that she's not coming back?" he said right in Chuck's ear.

Startled, Chuck cried out loud and nearly spilled his coffee. Trying to regain his calm, he turned to face Morgan. "What?!" he asked, more than a little angrily.

"Do you ever have the feeling that she's not coming back? You know – she got on a plane, and suddenly, you're a memory. A ghost. You're Patrick Swayze, except there's no Whoopi to hear your pain. No Whoopi, man. You might as well be in a hole in the ground somewhere for all you'll see her again."

Chuck boggled. "I'm sorry?"

"Anna. She's been gone three weeks. What if she isn't coming back?"

Chuck sighed. He should have known this was coming: Morgan had been taking Anna's trip to Taiwan to see her family too calmly. Some type of drama was long overdue.

He set down his cupcake and coffee, turned around and leaned back against the counter on his elbows. He tried to calm his friend. "C'mon, she's coming back. Don't torture yourself."

Morgan, following his lead and leaning against the counter, scanned the store as the two looked out. "Yeah, I know, hard to believe anyone would leave all this behind." He swept his arm around the store and let out a derisive snort. "Right."

Chuck winced. Luckily, Morgan was still staring around the store.

He continued, "I mean, think about it. She's off in her own world, her old world. With her old friends, doing the things she used to love to do. Suddenly, you and the Buy More don't look so hot any more. Why would she come back?"

"Look, she's coming back. She really likes you. She wouldn't decide not to come back without ever saying a word…" Chuck trailed off, wondering if Sarah might do exactly that. The mission came first. Duty came first. Everything else, including him, came last.

There was a long silence.

"This sucks, Chuck."

"That it does."

"Huh?"

"I mean, it sucks … right now, but I'm sure Anna will be back tomorrow. You'll see." Morgan seemed satisfied with the correction; he went back to contemplating the store.

_The real question is whether Sarah will be back,_ Chuck thought morosely. Morgan had managed to plant another seed of doubt.

His friend scratched his beard, his face crinkling in thought as he changed gears. "You know, I feel a snack attack coming on."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I'm thinking Mr. Pibb and Red Vines."

Chuck shook his head, a disgusted expression on his face. "God, that sounds awful."

"You've got to try it. It's crazy delicious."

"I think a cupcake's plenty for me at 10 in the morning.

"Well, at least come with me and keep me company."

"All right." Chuck set his coffee and cupcake on the counter. "Wait," he asked suspiciously. "Red Vines and Mr. Pibb? Where are you going to get them?"

"Gonna stop at the deli. The theater's overpriced."

"You know I can't go there."

"Aw, c'mon, Lou can't still be mad. The theater is like three times as expensive, and no other store carries them both."

Actually, he felt fine going back to the deli; he and Lou were finally on speaking terms again. Given how lousy he felt, he just really didn't feel like leaving the store, and Lou was a convenient excuse. "Sorry, man, if you're going to the deli, you're flying solo on this one."

"Coward. All right; I'll catch you in a few."

"Later, man."

Morgan walked towards the front of the store; Chuck turned around and picked up his coffee. After taking a long sip, he wondered again about Lester's intense focus on work. "What are you working so hard on?"

Without looking up, Lester answered, "Big Mike's got me working on a movie trivia contest for the store. Answer a question right, get a 10 percent discount on any DVD. It's pretty lame. I mean, look at these questions. 'What Friends alum starred in films with Bruce Willis?"

"Matthew Perry."

"That was so fast it was scary. Really. I'm impressed. Try this one." He read another question from his monitor. "What were the names of the two actors who played the young couple in _The Notebook_?"

Chuck shrugged. "MacAdams and Gosling."

"Ohhhhh, I'm sorry. As a male, the correct answer should have been, 'Are you frickin' kidding me? I have no idea.' You'll have to turn in your man-card now."

"C'mon! I had to see it with Ellie and Sarah."

"You obviously remember it too well. I suppose you liked _The Chronicles of Narnia_, too."

"Now you're just being…"

"Bartowski!" Big Mike bellowed. "Important job at 68th and Broadway. A PC's down. Get over there."

"I'm on it, Big Mike!" Lester shouted. He scrambled to find his bag.

Chuck turned and gave Lester a suspicious look. "What, you're volunteering to go on a job? A PC job, no less?"

"Time I started pulling my weight around here. I'll just pull up Yahoo Maps and figure out the quickest route."

"I prefer Mapquest," a nearly comatose Jeff muttered.

"Google Maps is the best," Chuck offered.

"True that."

"Would you guys shut up?" Lester demanded. With one last glance at the monitor, he packed up and left.

Making a half-hearted effort to peek over the counter, Chuck asked, "Say, Jeff, do you ever plan on getting up?"

"Ask me again in half an hour."

_Ed. Note: For those who might not have recognized it, you might want to Google the video for "Lazy Sunday", a Saturday Night Live sketch from a couple years back. There are a number of references to that skit in the scene._

**Scene LXIV – Sarah and Bryce**

Sarah stood on the balcony of their room, staring downhill at the quaint Merida street. She watched a young boy wearing jeans ripped off at the knees and dirty white wife-beater T-shirt ride his simple bike up the slight incline. He smiled and waved; she smiled and waved back.

The boy seemed so young, so innocent. Had she ever been like that? Nothing was simple any more.

Bryce and Sarah had made their way back to Merida without incident. The chaos at the AUC camp prevented anyone from following them. Getting past the border was a fairly routine matter of avoiding the guard station.

The toughest part had been convincing anyone on the main road to pick them up. They still wore their form-fitting black outfits, and with the high-end bags for their gear, they really looked like agents. In addition, they were less than ten miles away from the compound; smoke from the explosion still funneled upwards into the sky, clearly visible as the sun cleared the eastern horizon. A number of cars drove past with passengers shooting the pair curious and suspicious looks.

They had finally gotten a ride when Sarah took off her shirt and stood by the side of the road in her sports bra and tight black pants. Bryce had crouched in the bushes. It took a bit, but soon enough a truck stopped for the attractive blond.

The driver was clearly dismayed when Sarah asked if he would mind giving a ride to her and her boyfriend. Offering the man the equivalent of about 35 US dollars to take them the forty miles to La Fria soothed his disappointment nicely.

In La Fria, they reclaimed the Impala and drove back to their hacienda in Merida. Sarah was happy to let Bryce take the mountain drive this time. The down side was that she just ended up with more time to spend dreading the conversation that she knew was coming.

Dusty, dirty, and sore, Sarah had gladly accepted the offer of the first shower. She let the water run over her body, cleansing the mission from her skin. It was a ritual she performed any time she found it necessary to take a life; somehow, it always seemed to help.

She also allowed herself some extra time to scrub the skin where the snake had rubbed against her. Sarah was embarrassed that she hadn't handled that better. The CIA had trained her to handle contact with all kinds of creatures with more poise.

Eventually, she decided not to be too hard on herself. The snake had found a ticklish patch of skin; had it not found that patch, she likely wouldn't have given herself away. Not many women, or men for that matter, could make that claim after a snake slithered up their pants legs.

Feeling like a new woman, she enjoyed the breeze on her face, lingering for one final moment before she headed inside to pack. Her other travel bag was likely in lost-and-found in the Sao Paolo airport, so she would need to clean out the mission bag and leave a fair bit of her equipment behind. Airlines tended to frown upon guns, stolen rocket launchers and detonators, even in checked luggage.

She headed back inside, closing the door and the curtains behind her. She started laying out the equipment she had stolen from the truck on the bed.

The bathroom door opened. Bryce came out, a towel around his waist and another tousling his hair dry. He took in the small armory on the bed. "Not bad," he said.

"Yeah, I'm kind of bummed we didn't get to use some of this stuff. It's been pretty much guns and knives in L.A."

"Speaking of L.A…"

"Ah, the elephant in the room," she said with a slightly forced grin.

He smiled as well. "I take it you're going back. Hopefully only to set things right?"

She looked at him with a sad smile. She dashed his hopes with a shake of the head.

Sarah could see the frustration building behind his false smile. This was the part of the conversation she had been dreading. Bryce didn't let anything he wanted go without a fight.

"Sarah, I need you with me. These missions are too dangerous to break in a new partner, and I need my partner to be a woman to give us flexibility in our covers. Besides, I can't risk bringing in somebody I don't know, because they could be Fulcrum. That pretty much narrows it down to you or nobody."

"What about Chuck?"

"What about Chuck? Casey is guarding him, and the CIA can find another agent to take your place."

"Really? What if the replacement is Fulcrum? What if the new agent isn't as tolerant of Chuck's lack of field training? Besides, the new agent would need to be female and pose as Chuck's girlfriend; a new girlfriend might arouse suspicion in Chuck's cover life."

"Chuck can get a new girlfriend."

"I'm the only 'girlfriend' he's had since Jill."

"C'mon. I don't buy that."

"Believe it."

"So, he'll break his streak. What's the big deal?" He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Sarah, this is our chance to do what we always talked about. It's a mission of critical importance to national security, with none of the politics or the paperwork or the headaches. We have a sanction to get whatever we need when we need it, and we need to answer to nobody. It's our dream mission."

"Well, maybe my dreams have changed."

"That was six months ago; what could have changed?"

She stared wordlessly at him, unable to say the words. Her look communicated plenty.

"It was me leaving like that, wasn't it," he asked rhetorically.

"How can I be expected to place any kind of faith in you as a partner? You just up and left without a word."

"I told you: I followed the orders that were given to me. When I found out it was an internal strike, I didn't know who to trust. Even you. But now … Sarah, I trust you."

"That's all well and good, but how can I trust you?"

"How can you say that?"

"How can I say that?! How can you ask that?! Did you take a single minute to think about what I must have gone through? How much it must have hurt me, personally and professionally? Have you even been listening to what I've been saying?"

"Of course I did, and of course I have. It just hurt me to hear the question."

She had promised herself that she wouldn't get emotional. She had tried to prepare herself for this talk, but she still found herself sliding down a slippery slope. "My partner and boyfriend up and abandoned me without a single word. Tell me Bryce: am I really supposed to believe it would never happen again?"

"Yes, you are."

"How do you know I wouldn't do the same to you?"

"You're Sarah Walker. You aren't wired like that. You would never…"

"Bryce, I did it to Chuck three days ago!" The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. The anger quickly faded, replaced by a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had touched upon it in her thoughts, but she hadn't really admitted it to herself.

She had done the exact same thing Bryce had done, the thing that had hurt her so much.

He stared at her, unsure what to say.

She was unable to look Bryce in the eye as she spoke from her heart; she played with her fingers as she spoke. "I got the orders, I packed up my things, and I left without saying a single word to him. I had told him to trust me over and over and over again. It took months to build up that trust, and I just left without a word. You know Chuck: what would that have done to him? How could he trust my replacement unless I show him that he can trust that I will come back?"

She added, "And how could you possibly trust that I wouldn't do the exact same thing to you?"

He stared into space for a long moment. He clearly didn't know what to do with that argument.

"Bryce, I'm going back because Chuck is the Intersect, and protecting the Intersect is just as important as your mission. I'm going back because all the arguments for why I should join you also apply to why I should stay with Chuck. And I'm going back because I'm not going to do to Chuck what you did to me. If I go back and stay, I can make things right. I can't do that if I turn around and leave."

Bryce tried to regroup. With a friendly expression, he said, "Look, you could go back, make things right with Chuck, and then join up with me in a week, or a month. Chuck will understand. You could help bring in a new agent…"

"I'm sorry, Bryce. My mind is made up."

"Sarah ... I won't survive without you!"

She was stunned by the admission. It was her turn to be at a loss for words.

He gathered himself. Taking a deep breath, he said, "The past six months have been hell, Sarah. Absolute hell. I thought I could handle anything. 'The Indestructible Bryce Larkin'. That just isn't true. I'm sure you've seen it: I'm coming apart at the seams, and I need help."

She had seen some of the symptoms: the overly emotional decisions, the clumsiness that came from being wound tight as a drum for six straight months, and the desperation to have somebody to lean on. She couldn't deny what he was saying.

"I need one person, just one, that I can trust. I can trust you, Sarah, and I don't know how long I'll last without you. Chuck will survive without you, but I don't know that I will. Hell, even Chuck would tell you to go with me!"

She couldn't deny any of that. Chuck was selfless enough that, if he knew the whole story, he would do exactly that, no matter how much the decision would hurt him. However, Bryce's argument ended up having the opposite effect on her. She wasn't about to let Bryce use Chuck's selflessness to his advantage.

"All the more reason I should stay with Chuck," she said quietly. "If Chuck would be willing to do that for you, shouldn't you be willing to do the same for him?"

In some ways, she regretted saying the words. She regretted having to corner Bryce like that, to couch the decision in terms that would make him feel so selfish if he wanted to fight for what he felt he needed.

However, she did not regret her decision. It was the correct one.

She was going back to Chuck.


	21. Debriefing and Decompressing

**Scene LXV – Casey's Apartment**

Chuck arrived at Casey's apartment about fifteen minutes before their 5:00 pm briefing. The afternoon had become a hazy blur of caffeine and cupcakes in an effort to not end up on the floor under the Nerd Herd desk next to Jeff.

He was suffering a light-headedness he hadn't felt since cramming for exams back at Stanford. Paradoxically, now that his blood sugar had finally evened out, his thinking had more clarity, which could be a remnant of his late-night cram sessions.

Chuck knocked on the door; Casey wordlessly opened the door after verifying who was knocking through the peephole. He strolled back into the apartment; Chuck shut the door behind him.

Casey hadn't bothered to change out of his tux from the previous night. He and Carina had been at the Veron estate most of the day; he had only been home long enough to file his mission report, fix himself a sandwich and discard his tie and jacket on a nearby chair. At the moment, he was watering and pruning his small forest of bonsai trees, a satisfied smile on his face.

Chuck collapsed onto the couch and put his feet up. After a moment of contemplation, he said, "Casey, I've got a question for you."

"Yeah?" Casey asked with a minimum of interest.

"How did you know that Jennings and Veron would come after us?"

Casey took a moment to focus on clipping a small bud from a tree before answering. "I didn't. Not for sure. But I hoped they would."

"You mind explaining that?"

"The primary goal of most missions is to force your opponent into a bad situation. That isn't always possible. The next best thing is to offer your opponent a chance to make a mistake, to use his own worst tendencies against himself.

"At the Jennings estate, it turned out that we had no leverage. Their meeting was in an utterly secure location. Jennings had the DEA on a short leash. We had no evidence other than your flash … and, no offense, but your flashes are pretty much useless as evidence. All they had to do was sit tight and not be caught meeting again for a while, and our hands would have been completely tied."

"So why did they come after us?"

"My guess? Jennings couldn't resist finding out what we knew. Politicians love information and hate not having it." Casey shrugged. "He made a mistake. Veron is a little craftier, and rather than trying to interrogate us, he decided to try to neutralize us."

"So, you still think Jennings is dirty."

"Yep. We don't have anything concrete, but at a minimum it's likely he was accepting kickbacks from Veron. The NSA will keep an eye on him for a while."

Chuck stared at the wall for a minute. Given a respite, Casey decided to move onto another tree.

An intake of breath announced Chuck's next question. "So, you deliberately let us get captured?"

Casey stopped pruning. An intrigued expression took over his face. "Why do you say that?"

"Our car should have easily outrun the van. You led him on a chase and, when the opportunity presented itself, you picked a place to crash. You even made sure to crash the car into a beater."

"Good call, Bartowksi. There might be hope for you yet."

Chuck smiled at the compliment. "This is the second time you've deliberately let us be captured on a mission. First Andon Minh, now Veron. Isn't that a bit risky?"

"Yes, but there was a low probability of anything happening, though. Three dead or missing agents, no matter where they turned up, would have had enough juice to get warrants for Veron's entire estate, and maybe Jennings' home as well. Neither one of them wanted that, although I may have miscalculated on Veron. He was a cocky SOB. Luckily, they figured that out rather than dropping the three of us in a deep hole somewhere and tried to get clever."

Casey's focus on pruning while he spoke led him to miss the outraged expression on Chuck's face. "Luckily?! You mean…"

"That's right: Veron or Jennings could have made another mistake. That's part of the job, Bartowski. There's no such thing as a sure thing in this business."

Chuck's mouth went dry. He was still trying to get his head around the gamble that was an agent's life when a knock came at the door. Casey peered through the peephole before admitting Carina.

"Hello, boys," she said as she sauntered into the apartment wearing a flirty red top and a tight black skirt. She looked like the cat that ate the canary; she practically glowed. "Are we ready for the debriefing?"

The two men grinned. All three of them were looking forward to this.

Casey activated the communications array. General Beckman was waiting for them.

"Good afternoon, agents."

"Good evening, ma'am," Casey said, taking into account the time difference.

"I've had a chance to skim the mission report, and I have to say, I'm a little disappointed."

The smile fled from Chuck's face. "What?! Why?"

The general gave Chuck a sour look. "Your assignment was to explore the connection between Veron and Jennings. The DEA is obviously pleased with the huge drug bust, but it leaves us with nowhere to go with Jennings."

"I respectfully disagree, ma'am." Casey said. "While we don't have anything concrete on Jennings, he tipped his hand a couple of times. Between Bartowski's fl..., er, file and Veron's actions, we know we need to watch Jennings. Nothing more could have come from the night's work." Carina had caught Casey's near-stumble; she looked at him curiously.

The general thought about Casey's words for the moment. "Maybe so. It was some sloppy work, wouldn't you agree? We were very close to being in a bad place with Jennings and Veron."

"That wouldn't be the first time that's happened. Besides, the best agents are the ones who can figure things out on the fly."

"Fair enough."

At that, Chuck's mood improved noticeably. It was an indirect compliment; that was two today from Casey. It was a banner day.

The general continued, "I've been in contact with the head of the DEA. Some details you might be interested in knowing: the final value of the cocaine was placed at 13.5 million. Approximately 2.3 million in cash was seized. Eight Colombian nationals were found in the cave; they apparently came in on the boats and never left; they slept in bunks in the back of the cave."

"Kind of like Oompa Loompas!" Chuck said gleefully, prompting looks from the three others. "You know, 'Jaime Veron and the Cocaine Factory'! 'Nobody ever comes in. Nobody ever goes out…'" He trailed off into sheepish silence, realizing that none of the others got the reference, nor cared.

Annoyed, the general continued, "Drugs were distributed by sealing them in fertilizer bags. There was a secret passage up from the cave that came out in the garage, so we suspect the bags were loaded into the van that brought you three to the house. The huge garden in the back yard gave Veron the excuse to have four full-time 'gardeners' on staff, and it was not at all suspicious for them to drive around a van full of dirt, compost, and fertilizer."

"No wonder we never saw anything," Carina said.

"Indeed. Veron and his men are in a high security facility; so far, they aren't talking. We don't even know for certain which cartel Veron belongs to."

"We've suspected he works for two brothers referred to as, 'Los Mellizos', ma'am, but we've never been able to verify that."

Casey looked at Chuck, who subtly shook his head. The flash hadn't told him anything about Veron's cartel.

The general made a note of that on the report. "All in all, a pretty good day. We'll assign some people to investigate Jennings more thoroughly, but be sure to steer clear of him. Even if he is just a simple politician, he'll be looking for an excuse for revenge."

"Understood," Casey said.

"If that's it…"

"Um, General?" Chuck asked.

"Yes?"

"Is there any word on when, or if, Agent Walker will be returning?"

"Nothing yet. I'll inform Agent Casey when we know anything."

"Thank you." Chuck was disappointed, but he held out hope. Nothing was decided; that was something.

"Take tonight off," said the general. "Agent Casey, we'll have a quick briefing tomorrow at 0745."

"Understood, General. Good bye."

The general signed off.

Casey looked at Chuck with a disgusted expression. "Oompa Loompas. Very professional."

Carina said, "C'mon, Chuck. The DEA owes you for Veron's capture, and I intend to show you our appreciation, in ways that I'm very sure you'll appreciate." She grabbed him by the hand and started pulling him away.

Casey grabbed Chuck by the shoulder. "Just a moment, Carina. I need to speak with him for a moment."

"Don't keep him long," she said. "I have big plans for him." As she walked away, she pulled the tie on his Buy More uniform out straight before letting it drop.

Chuck felt his body respond; he swallowed hard as he watched her walk away. Suddenly, he had no idea how he was going to be strong enough to turn down her offer.

He would find a way. He had to find a way. Sarah might be coming back.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Casey grabbed Chuck by the shoulder again. This time, Casey spun Chuck around to face him.

"You're not really thinking about going with her," Casey said.

Here went Casey again, defining the boundaries of his love life. Chuck was done with that. "So what if I was?" he lied.

Casey almost snorted. "You really want to end up handcuffed to a hotel bed? Because I really don't feel like rescuing you. Besides, what happens when Agent Walker comes back?"

"Please. Last time Sarah disappeared for a while, you spent all your time teasing me about what would happen when she ran off with Bryce. Now you're trying to tell me…"

While mentioning Bryce's name, Casey's poker face had slipped, if only for an instant. However, an instant was long enough, even in Chuck's sleep-deprived state, for him to realize the truth.

Chuck felt the blood drain from his face. "That's where she is, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically. "Sarah's off with Bryce."

Casey's jaw locked and his eyes widened into an intense stare. The subtlest of conflicting emotions flickered across his face.

Chuck didn't pretend to be able to read those emotions. It didn't matter. Casey had lied to him; he knew Sarah was off with Bryce and hadn't told him. All his insecurities welled back up; a huge knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Casey, what else do you know?" Chuck demanded. "Is she coming back?"

After a long pause, Casey finally responded. "I can neither confirm nor deny that Agent Walker is with Agent Larkin, nor can I provide any additional information on the matter." For the briefest of moments, he looked like he wanted to say more, but didn't. Or couldn't.

Again, it didn't matter. Casey had done enough.

It all made sense. From what Chuck knew, there had to be few missions more important than guarding the Intersect. However, joining up with your old partner, and lover, to go after Fulcrum was certainly one of them.

The cynic inside of him mocked the hopeless romantic. _She ran off to be with Bryce. Still think she's coming back? You're a fool. An absolute fool._

It all fit. Sarah was gone. She had run off with Bryce.

He'd lost another woman to Bryce.

Returning Casey's stare with one just as intense, Chuck said, "If you'll excuse me, I've got somebody waiting outside for me." He pivoted and headed for the door.

As he walked away, Casey clearly wanted to say something. Chuck found the door before Casey found the words.

* * *

Outside, Carina acted just like a person who hadn't been listening at the door a moment earlier. "You ready?" she asked with a sultry grin, extending a hand to Chuck.

He took her hand wordlessly. He was fuming. He was distant.

He was hers, at least for tonight. As they walked to her car, she allowed herself a secret smile. That was all the time she would need him.

Bryce Larkin was alive! Now that was a hot piece of intel. Everyone in the intelligence community outside of Chuck, Sarah and Casey believed Bryce was dead.

She smirked. Between capturing Veron and these tidbits, this was turning into an unbelievable day.

Bryce must somehow play into why Sarah and Casey hovered around Chuck. There was something big going on, and Chuck was close to the center of it.

Later, when Chuck was a bit more … pliable … she would get what she wanted from him. She would find out why agents like Sarah and Casey were so protective of this guy and what he knew about Bryce Larkin.

**Scene LXVI – Airport Bar**

Sarah sipped her caipirinha at the Sao Paolo airport bar. After she finished her taste, she held the glass away from her as she regarded the concoction. She wondered why so many American bars failed to get the drink right. It was just cachaca, sugar, and lime juice. While cachaca wasn't a normal staple of a bar, it wasn't exactly hard to find, either.

Then again, maybe there was just something to enjoying the drink with Brazilians prattling in Portuguese around her, even if it was just an airport bar.

There were more direct ways for Sarah to get back to Los Angeles, but it paid to be cautious. Bogota was out, as they couldn't rule out word reaching unfriendly ears about their pyrotechnic activities in the AUC camp. Similarly, Caracas was out because word could somehow reach Moreno. Odds were high that that wouldn't happen, but those were unnecessary risks that gained nothing. A few extra hours of travel was a small price to pay.

A friendly pilot had agreed, upon request from a not-so-friendly Bryce, to fly her from Merida to Sao Paolo. Lima or La Paz would have been closer, but taking the extra time to go to Sao Paolo meant that Sarah could use her original credentials and her original plane ticket, which would help keep her movements off the radar. She was now scheduled to leave on the 12 am red-eye to Los Angeles.

As usual, she went over the mission in her head as she headed back home. The mission had certainly been touch-and-go at times. They had nearly lost the truck in La Fria, and her little snake incident had nearly created a bad situation. Quick thinking from her and her partner had led to things working out in the end. All in all, she was fairly happy with how things turned out.

A thought occurred to her: how would the mission have fared if Chuck were along? Would he have flashed on the Moreno-Varela connection? Would he have recognized the Los Mellizos henchman or the arms dealer? Could he have spotted the AUC connection from a flash rather than needing to penetrate the Colombian jungle?

There was a pretty good chance that Chuck could have spotted a connection early on. They might have one or more of Moreno, Varela and Castaño in custody for questioning right now, a higher gain for a lesser risk.

That's part of why it was critical to keep Chuck in the field. The potential was staggering.

She fiddled with her necklace, opening up the chamber to view the picture of the two of them. She smiled. The necklace felt good around her neck, especially in light of her decision to go back to Chuck. She would need to find a way to make it up to him.

Her mind suddenly wandered in a tempting but entirely inappropriate direction. Chuck was reclining on the bed, staring up at her with disbelieving eyes and a crooked grin. She stared back at him as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, a sultry smile on her face. His deep, sepia eyes widened in adoration…

Sarah shook herself out of the moment. As tempting as the thought was, things needed to return to the way they were. She and Chuck had found a balance that seemed to work. It would continue to work that way.

Something deep inside her urged her to call Chuck and tell him she was coming back. Digging through her bag, she dug out her dormant iPhone. Her phone would work in most countries around the world, so all she would have to do is turn the phone on and use speed dial.

She moved her thumb to the power switch.

She sighed. Despite how much she longed to hear his voice and know that he was still safe, the agent in her took over. The phone could be traced; there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. Besides, she wasn't quite sure what she would say to him. She needed time to come up with the right words.

It just wasn't important enough. She dropped the phone back into her bag.

**Scene LXVII – Carina's Hotel Room**

Chuck stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He was clad in one of the hotel's white robes. His hair was a little messier than usual. He wore a grin that threatened to become a permanent fixture on his face.

He felt like a new man.

Drawing a glass of water from the sink, he drank it all in a single go. He immediately began refilling the glass.

It had been a long time since he had made love, but frankly, that term didn't apply to what he and Carina had done. The term was far too pedestrian, and what they had done certainly had nothing to do with love.

She had blown him away, and if her reactions were any indication, he had held up his end as well.

He filled up another glass of water. Switching off the bathroom light with an elbow, he walked through the open door back into the bedroom carrying the two full glasses.

Carina laid face-down on the bed with her arms pillowing her head near the opposite night stand. Her eyes closed and a small grin on her face, she appeared utterly relaxed and contented in the soft glow of the ornamental lights.

He set one glass of water on the table by her head. Her smile increased the slightest bit in gratitude. He slipped back around to sit next to her, his left hand holding his glass of water and the right gently running through her hair.

Words weren't really necessary.

Chuck didn't hold any delusions about his prowess. It had been over five years since he had sex of any kind, so there was definitely room for improvement. However, Carina was a pro in nearly every sense of the term, and Chuck was quick on the uptake.

That, combined with the adrenaline from their recent adventures and his anger at Sarah, proved to be an explosive combination.

The best part of it was that it helped him feel better about Sarah's betrayal. At least, he'd considered it betrayal on the way to the hotel. Now, his anger alleviated, he wasn't sure he could say whether that term was accurate.

She had always told him that an agent had to be ready to leave on a moment's notice. She had never lied to him. All she had done was fought her feelings for him and been utterly professional.

He decided it wasn't betrayal. It just hurt to know she could leave like that, without saying goodbye, as if their friendship – and whatever else unspoken lingered between them – meant so little.

It really hurt knowing she was gone.

He wondered if he was just better off not dating. He had seen that a regular relationship just wasn't possible, and he wasn't sure he could handle some of the more unusual compromises required to date an agent.

"You caught your breath yet?" Carina asked. "I'm about ready for round 2."

He chuckled wryly. Here he was, his fingertips gently stroking a very, very sexy woman's naked back, and all he could think about was Sarah.

If there was going to be a round 2, Chuck wanted Sarah firmly gone from his mind. He set his water glass on the floor, turning towards Carina. He lifted her hair to the side and increased the pressure of his fingertips slightly as he lightly massaged her neck, making small circles as he searched for pockets of tension.

She gave a satisfied growl. "Mmm … OK, but don't think this is going to buy you much of a break."

Chuck just smiled. His fingers worked their way down her back, searching out various muscle groups. Occasionally, he switched to his thumbs, applying twin pressure points on symmetric locations on her back.

She lay mostly still, occasionally tensing up for a moment as he relieved a pocket of tightness. Her satisfied smile grew; she sighed contentedly.

As his warm hands approached the small of his back, he noticed some discoloration of the skin. It was subtle, but it was definitely there. He teasingly traced it with his fingertips. He couldn't help but ask, "What happened here?"

"What? Oh, nothing. Sunburn."

"Sunburn? Really? I've never seen anything like it."

"Yeah, it was really bad. I was nine, and my sister and I accidentally used baby oil instead of suntan lotion. We like to joke that we looked like two blond little lobsters. That was before I colored my hai … what's wrong?"

At the word 'lobsters', Chuck had pulled his fingers away from Carina's back as if he had just burnt them. "Sunburn? Baby oil? Blond little lobsters?"

He flashed back to a game night in the apartment several months ago. He replayed the moment in his mind. It all fit. _Most dangerous situation ever_, he thought.

She lifted herself onto her elbows to look at him. "So?"

He gazed directly at her with haunted eyes. "So, that means you're Sarah's sister." He choked on the words; he could barely force them out.

Carina's eyes widened in disbelief … they showed shock. "How did you…" she started to ask before trailing off. She couldn't deny it.

"You're Sarah's sister," he repeated in a quiet, broken voice as the implications sunk in.


	22. How Soon is Now?

**Scene LXVIII – Voice Mail**

_Message 1: Sunday, 6:56 pm_

"Hey, Sarah, Chuck again. Coming up on 7:00 … like my other message said, just wondering if you want to watch one of the movies I snagged from the Buy More return desk. Give me a call."

_-click-_

* * *

_Message 2: Thursday, 1:33 am._

"Hi, Sarah, it's Chuck. Listen, I know you're going off with Bryce on some other mission. I have no idea whether you'll even get this. When you finish a mission … I don't know, maybe you just move on and leave everything behind you. I do hope you get this, because I wanted to tell you something before anyone else did. Well, two things, actually."

"The first is that I know Carina is your sister. How I found out isn't important, but I wanted you to know that I wasn't snooping into your life or anything ... I figured it out from something she said. It really doesn't matter how I found out; I just wanted you to know that I knew, because I know how protective you are of any personal details."

Chuck sighed. "The second thing is that … man, there's no easy way to say this." He paused for several seconds. "I slept with Carina. I don't know why. Well, that's not true: I know why. I just didn't…"

The message cut off.

* * *

_Message 3: Thursday, 1:35 am._

"It's me again. What I wanted to say was, 'I'm sorry.' I didn't know Carina was your sister before I slept with her; I figured that out later. Just, I found out that you were gone for good with Bryce ... to be honest, I was really hurt and I needed the comfort."

He paused. "All I know is that you'll probably find out, and when you do, it might hurt you. I wanted you to know that I didn't sleep with her to get back at you or anything malicious like that. It wasn't about you. It just hurt not knowing whether you were coming back."

He paused again. "I just wanted you to hear it from me first."

_-click-_

* * *

_Message 4: Thursday, 1:52 am._

"You know what; to be honest, I'm not sorry. I've put myself out there for you so many times, and you couldn't even give me a hint that you were leaving? I mean, you had all these fancy code phrases with Bryce so you could tell each other what was going on, and while I know that we never let our feelings for each other go anywhere, I thought we were at least close enough that you would tell me something that important personally. Instead, I have to hear it from Casey with his 'don't-get-all-weepy-on-me-Bartowski' routine. You had to realize what running off with Bryce would do to me. You had to know."

"You kept wanting me to trust you; why couldn't you have trusted me even a little bit?"

_-click-_

* * *

_Message 5: Thursday, 2:25 am._

"I'm sorry about all the messages; this time I called, I guess, because I didn't want the last message to be the last thing you ever heard from me."

Chuck paused. "I wanted to thank you for everything that you did for me, Sarah. You made things so much better than another agent ever could have, or would have. I don't know whether I would have ever made it this far if it had been some other random CIA agent instead of you. I can never thank you enough for that."

He paused again. "I'm really, really going to miss you. I hope Bryce takes care of you like … like …"

There was a longer pause before he said, "Goodbye, Sarah."

_-click-_

* * *

_Message 6: Thursday, 8:17 am._

"Hi, Sarah, it's me again. Um, Casey just told me that you are coming back today. I realize I was a bit of a mess last night; I'm sorry about that, and I really, really, really would like a chance to talk about all of this if you are back for good."

"I don't know if you remember, but I was supposed to make you dinner tonight for Valentine's Day for our cover … or not. I hope you remembered. Ellie knows about it, so you're kind of expected. Sorry about that."

"However, I do want to add one thing: if you are planning on leaving, please just skip the dinner. I can make up some story about how we broke up later; I'm getting pretty good at lying to my sister. But I don't think I could handle dinner without us being able to talk about this first. Knowing you might be leaving would be a little much for me to handle."

_-click-_

* * *

Sarah sat in the end slot of a long bench in an otherwise-empty gate area of an LAX terminal, blond hair shielding her face as she stared at her bag on the floor. It was loud in the terminal; she was trying to shut out the background noise by putting a finger in one ear and holding the phone tightly to the other.

At the end of the last message, she raised her head. Her hair swept back from her face like two blond curtains, presenting a face colored with anguish.

She tried to process the meaning behind all the messages Chuck had left for her. He was obviously a mess.

That made two of them.

**Scene LXIX – Sarah's Hotel Room**

There was a quiet beep from the motion sensor Sarah had mounted outside her hotel room door, followed by four knocks. Sarah looked up as she carried a stack of clothes from her bathroom closet to her bed, wondering whether the person would go away if she simply ignored him. After a long moment, a second series of knocks suggested no. A third confirmed it.

Sarah rolled her eyes in frustration. It was probably Chuck, and she didn't want to talk to him. Somewhat aggressively, Sarah stalked across the room and yanked the door open.

Carina stood in the hallway, one hand holding onto her purse strap.

Sarah looked up and down the hallway before saying anything. "Hello, sis'," she said in a cold tone. Carina looked back at her with a slightly curious expression.

Sarah paused, appearing as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she chose to turn and walk away, leaving her sister in the open doorway. Carina invited herself in, shutting the door behind her.

"I wanted to stop by before I left," Carina said, dropping her purse onto Sarah's nightstand. "Don't worry; Casey and Chuck have no idea that I'm still around."

Focusing on organizing her clothes into two piles on the bed, Sarah replied, "Well, that's kind of surprising. Thought you might want to swing by to give Chuck one last thrill on the way out of town." She threw down a folded pair of jeans a little harder than necessary.

Carina threw her arms into the air in exasperation. "He told you," she said. "I told him not to, the idiot."

"Oh, please. If you told him not to tell me, it was only so you could see the expression on my face when you told me yourself. Maybe gloat about one-upping your sister a little bit?"

"That's not what happened."

That got Sarah's attention; she dropped a shirt from each hand and turned to confront Carina. "Oh, really? So you didn't start flirting with Chuck because of me?"

"The first time out, sure. I saw how you looked at him, how you tried to keep me away from him. This time I was digging for information. Any means, right?" Carina acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sarah's face showed that she clearly wasn't buying it. "You really expect me to believe that none of it was about me."

"So what if it was? Chuck was totally fair game. I even asked him if you ever came clean about your feelings. He said no. He was telling the truth, wasn't he?"

Sarah flashed a pained expression. She was hurt that Chuck would say that, until she realized just exactly how true that statement was. She fled, hiding in her packing. Her movements conveyed her irritation and frustration.

None of this was lost on her sister. Carina regarded Sarah with confusion for a long moment. "So I seduced Chuck. So what?"

Sarah's packing motions slowed. She didn't respond. She couldn't respond. All she could do is see the same series of images that had burned through her system all day: Carina staring at Chuck, flirting with Chuck, seducing Chuck. Sarah pictured Chuck looking at Carina the way she had caught him looking at her from time to time. Carina leaned in towards Chuck, her lips slightly parted in anticipation…

Her blood boiled.

A pair of shoes hit the wall with a loud thud. Her eyes flared. "So why the hell do you always have to go after the guys I like?"

Carina laughed in disbelief. "The better question is why don't you?"

"What?!"

"You had your chances, and, typical Sarah, you chose to do nothing. Maybe next time you'll choose to go after the guy you want instead of getting all pissy when somebody else sleeps with him."

In an ominously quiet voice, Sarah said, "If I were you, I wouldn't mention that you two slept together again."

Despite not seeming the least bit intimidated, Carina bit back her instinctive response. She seemed to force herself to calm down. After a moment, she said, "Yes, I went after Chuck the first time because I thought you were interested. When was that? Four months ago? And what's changed since then?"

Sarah's eyes darted around as she searched for a response. "Plenty. We've been on dates, we've kissed a couple of times… "

"A couple of times?" Carina asked. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "When?"

Sarah flushed, refusing to meet her sister's eyes.

"I see. Part of the cover?"

"And one other time," Sarah added defensively, if a bit meekly.

Carina shook her head in disbelief. "Same with the dates, I'm betting. God, you are hopeless. What's a guy supposed to do after four months?"

Sarah again tried to escape. "I can't date my … teammate." Sarah had to pull back at the last second to avoid saying 'asset', something Carina wouldn't know. To cover, she quickly added, "I learned my lesson after dating a partner blew up in my face. It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. Despite the fact that virtually nothing has happened between you two, Chuck was still so into you that he turned me down … twice."

"Gosh, what a ringing endorsement for a guy. I guess the third time's the charm, huh."

"Yeah, the charm was when he found out that your secret mission involved shacking up with Bryce."

Sarah's jaw hit the floor. She stared at her sister. "Wha…? How did you find…"

"Overheard an interesting conversation between Casey and Chuck. Given the conversation, Chuck must have figured it from Casey's face somehow."

So that was how Chuck found out about Bryce. Sarah was truly stunned; she had assumed that Beckman or Graham had felt compelled to mention it for some reason. It wasn't like Casey to make that kind of mistake.

Carina continued, "So, Bryce Larkin is still alive. No wonder you're a mess."

"Carina, I can't tell you anything about Bryce. You need to forget you ever heard that: I know you love to find out about things like this, but this is serious, serious stuff."

"It's all 'serious, serious stuff' with you. Whatever. Just tell me you finally came to your senses and got over Bryce."

Sarah finally saw a chance to lash back at her sister. "You tell me. I'm packing to join him." She shut her eyes in frustration. Her sister had dug more information out of her. _Damnit!_

"Really. You're going to join Bryce again. This from the person who said that dating her partner blew up in her face. This from the person who is ticked at her sister for sleeping with a guy she's going to leave. If you're going to lie, at least make it a good one."

Sarah didn't respond; she just kept folding and organizing.

Carina's jaw hit the floor. "You really are packing to join Bryce. Jesus Christ, Sarah. It's not like you to…" Understanding crossed her face. "Oh, no. Let me guess when you came to that decision."

Sarah didn't answer. She didn't need to answer. _Right after I found out Chuck slept up with you_, she thought bitterly. Those same images started crossing her mind again: Carina nibbling at Chuck's jaw line, his eyes closing and his knees weakening… Her stomach tied in knots.

"I don't get you, Sarah."

Her eyes shot open. "Well, what else is new."

"You go months with this guy around, and you do nothing. Then you get all bitchy because I actually did something."

"Once again, you assume you know everything that's going on."

"I know that you leaving would be pretty much the end of it, isn't it? Would you rather storm off in a huff without giving yourself a chance to calm down and think it through? That's more your style."

"I'd rather smack you in the mouth."

"You aren't fast enough."

"Do you really want to start something with me right now?"

"Please, you'd hit the ground quicker than Chuck's clothes in my hotel room."

Sarah's eyes went blank. She had had it with her sister. Carina saw this in time to dodge around the shirt flying at her head, giving herself a clear view of Sarah's second attack.

Carina bounced backwards after easily deflecting the side kick aimed at her kidney, settling into a fighting stance. "Wow, this is a first," she gloated. "I actually goaded my sister into a fight."

Sarah was beyond words; she closed the distance to her sister with a flying kick that was harmlessly blocked, as was the follow-up combination punch.

Carina didn't strike back physically; she was more interested in using her mouth as a weapon. "Guess it's a day of firsts: first time I slept with Chuck, certainly the first time for Chuck that a woman used her tongue to…"

Cries of frustration highlighted Sarah's next flurry of punches and kicks, only one of which snuck through Carina's defenses: a light punch that grazed Carina's lip. The furious sequence culminated with a low leg sweep that Carina somersaulted over. She followed it with a handspring onto the back corner of the bed. Having the high ground forced Sarah to examine the terrain warily; she tried to figure out a way to attack that would remove her sister's advantage.

"You know what the best part was, Sarah?" Carina taunted as she stepped from the bed to the nightstand to a solid armchair by the window, continually changing her position to maintain the distance between them. "You know that moment, just afterwards, when a man loses all his strength and he just collapses onto you? When he's just a warm, soft, sated pile of flesh desperately trying to catch his breath? The best part was when Chuck finally caught his breath enough to give that sigh, that indescribable sound of utter satisfaction. That was the best part."

The taunts had their desired effect. Sarah launched herself towards the bed. She seemed prepared to spring into the air off the corner, but at the last second, she sidestepped and came in low.

Carina, anticipating the tactic, used a twisting somersault to leap from the armchair to the unused corner of the bed. As Sarah tried to halt her mad rush, Carina dropped to the floor and pushed Sarah with both hands, using her sister's momentum to land her awkwardly in the armchair.

A knee in the center of Sarah's back pressed her hips and shoulders to the cushions, leaving Sarah unable to lever out of her vulnerable position using her arms or legs. Just in case, Carina grabbed Sarah by the hair with one hand, yanking her head back, and pulled her other arm straight behind her where she could torque the shoulder painfully, if needed.

"God, that wasn't even long enough to be satisfying. Now, last night…"

"Enough!" Sarah cried, sounding fairly pitiful as she stopped struggling against her sister. "Enough." All of the tension seemed to drain out of her.

"Say it," demanded Carina, yanking on Sarah's hair.

"Say what?"

"Sarah…" Carina warned menacingly, pressing her knee into Sarah's back.

"All right, all right." She took a deep breath as if it pained her to say the words. "'I surrender.'"

Carina let go of the handful of hair and pushed off Sarah with her knee. She lifted a hand to her mouth, checking for blood where the single blow that had gotten through had landed.

Sarah pushed herself up with her better arm; her second shoulder still smarted. She turned over and sat in the chair, trying to catch her breath.

"Not much of a fight. You're letting your emotions get the better of you, and you always make mistakes when you do that. Always."

Sarah caught her sister's double message, and chose to ignore it. "Why don't you just leave."

"I don't think so. What was the guy supposed to do?"

"He was supposed to trust me!" she said as she panted for air. "He told me he trusted me."

Carina, not needing as much effort to moderate her own breathing, assessed her sister for a moment. "Why didn't you tell him where you were going? Seems like if you trusted him, you would have told him."

"Orders," Sarah shrugged.

"Pretty convenient. Your hands are tied by orders, so you don't have to tell him when you're running off with your ex-boyfriend. Does Chuck get an excuse, too?"

Sarah angrily shrugged her shoulders. "An excuse for what: running off and sleeping with some skank?"

"Nice. Had you known about Bryce and had you been able to tell him, would you have told him?"

"Of course."

Carina gave her a disapproving look.

Sarah flushed. "OK, maybe not, but…"

"But nothing. You would have told Chuck you had a mission and left it at that. You wouldn't have told Chuck because you knew how he'd react."

"And apparently I would have been right."

"You don't really think it's the same thing, do you? You weren't up front with him about leaving, so he had to wonder what else you weren't telling him. Trust isn't something you can just shove in your back pocket when it's given to you. You have to keep earning it. You have to keep deserving it."

"I can't tell him everything."

"You could have told him that he didn't need to worry, that you would be back."

Sarah looked away.

Carina rolled her eyes. "I see. You couldn't have even told him that, because there was a chance you wouldn't be back. And you obviously considered it. For fuck's sake, what was that about trust?"

Sarah looked down.

"Did you sleep with Bryce?"

Her eyes shot back up. "No!"

"Well, that's something, I guess."

"Enough. You've made your point."

Sarah leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. She had come back to Los Angeles firmly committed to being nothing more than Chuck's protector, but finding out that Chuck had slept with Carina had been like a knife to her heart. Her first instinct had been to escape the powerful emotions, but much like Carina's actions the previous night, her sister's actions in her room had once again cast doubt upon her decision.

After a long pause, Carina continued, more softly, "You know, you should have seen his face when he figured out I was your sister. He was crushed. He knew what it would do to you, and that bothered him … even when he thought you were off cavorting with Bryce."

"You mean, when you told him."

"What?"

"You said he figured out you're my sister. You had to have told him."

"No, he figured it out. He saw the sun scar on the base of my back, and he somehow put it all together. How did he know about that, anyway?"

When had she … of course. "I told the story at game night, with Ellie and Devon and Morgan. I thought it was harmless."

Carina walked over. "So did I." Her lips pursed as she thought. "Chuck seems to be seeing things pretty clearly these days. He found the connection that led to our mission. He spotted Casey's slip and figured out you were with Bryce. He figured out I'm your sister."

"He was wrong about me running off with Bryce."

"Well, he wasn't completely off, and he truly believed it last night. Look, he's not a saint, but he's far closer to it than you are. Who are you to judge?"

"I'm the one who was coming back to him."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why were you coming back to him? Were you coming back to tell him you loved him? Isn't that the only reason to come back?"

She gave her sister a dangerous look. She might be emotionally off-balance, but she could still tell that her sister was fishing for information.

"Fine, don't tell me. Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do…"

Sarah scoffed, "Of course you are."

Carina grinned. "You're right: of course I am." She took Sarah by the shoulders. "Don't beat up the guy for being human."

"I'm not, I'm…"

"You were packing, Sarah. You were planning on leaving over this."

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Sarah said pitifully. "It's…"

"…complicated," Carina finished her thought, her grin growing even bigger.

Sarah gave her a reluctant smile slightly tinged with affection.

Carina shrugged. "So, stay here and figure it out. Nothing says you have to decide right now. I'm sure Bryce will be happy to take you back on later … if it suits him."

"You never did like him much, did you."

"How could I? We're too much alike. Self-serving, manipulative, and sexy as hell."

With a wry smile, Sarah added, "Don't forget 'modest'."

"Nah, modesty does nothing to help an agent. It's useless." Carina seemed to change gears. "So, Bryce Larkin is still alive … interesting."

"Stop it. I'm not telling you anything."

"All right, all right." Carina wrapped Sarah in a hug. "It's good to see you, sis'."

Sarah returned the hug. "You too." She wanted to ask Carina where she was headed, but she knew Carina couldn't tell her.

Carina took one last fond, lingering look at her sister, drinking her in before heading for the door. "Oh," she turned to add, "two last pieces of advice."

"What, you haven't lectured me enough?"

"Never," she said with an impish grin. She quickly grew serious again. "Look, you know how I feel about people in our jobs dating anybody."

"'May have to stick a knife in the guy tomorrow'; yeah, I know."

She stared intently at Sarah. "I'm amending my view slightly. The only thing dumber than dating in our line of work would be feeling this strongly about a guy and running away. You owe it to yourself to think this through rather then just throwing up your hands and saying, 'The job comes first.' If you walk away now, you're pretty much throwing away any chance you have."

Sarah looked at her suspiciously. "Why are you advocating for Chuck?"

Carina appeared genuinely confused. "I don't know. He's a good enough guy, I guess, even if I'd be bored with him inside a week." She paused. "How did somebody like him ever become a field agent?"

"Would you stop digging for info already?!"

"Can't blame a girl for trying." Carina gave a smile, which quickly faded. Pensively, she added, "Maybe I'm not advocating for him. Maybe I'm advocating for you: you're just too damn stubborn and noble about the job to ever look out for what you really want."

Sarah didn't know what to say to that; sensing this, Carina turned and started walking for the door.

"I thought you said you had two pieces of advice?" Sarah called.

"I do." Carina grinned evilly, looking back over her shoulder. "If you get the chance, try sucking on Chuck's toes. It drives him wild."

Sarah knew she should be mad, but somehow couldn't be. "Get out of here," she mock-yelled, unable to completely hide her smile as she hurled a balled-up pair of jeans after Carina. The door shut in plenty of time to block the missile.

* * *

_Ed. Note - Thanks to Go Chuck Go for the advice and the beta reads..._


	23. At a Loss for Words

**Scene LXX – Sarah's Apartment**

Sarah sat on her bed by the headboard, arms wrapped around her knees as she stared blankly into space. Her packing hadn't progressed at all; she had settled into a nook between the two piles of clothes almost immediately after Carina left and had moved very little since. She had a great deal to think about.

It had taken her some time to wrap her head around everything she and Carina had covered. Everything, good and bad, swirled together into one overwhelming blur.

The only concrete thing she had decided was that it was difficult to judge Chuck too harshly. Carina had pointed out Sarah's own missteps and hypocrisies with laser-like precision. In the end, Chuck's only mistake had been thinking she wouldn't return, which was far closer to the truth than Sarah had cared to admit.

The critical revelation had been just how much Chuck sleeping with another woman had affected her, despite Sarah's firm intent to keep things strictly professional with Chuck. Carina had shown just how easy it was to get Sarah's emotions to take over. Sarah had quickly begun to act the part of the spurned lover, which was a major flaw with her plan to return to the status quo

She needed to rethink her decision about what to do next. She was back to square one.

Sarah thought about the decision in a number of different ways. She made lists weighing the pro's and con's. She listened to her heart, which told her different things in different moments. She tried picturing what her life would be like in each situation, and what she would be giving up. Nothing that she did made things any clearer.

Time passed. She wandered her apartment, she stared out the window, and she sat in different places around the room. Still, Sarah was no closer to an answer.

Her mind kept taking her in circles. The professional thing to do would be to go with Bryce. Her old partner needed her, and she was emotionally compromised by Chuck. Her romance with Bryce, at least on her side, appeared to be a thing of the past – and that was a good thing.

However, if she left Chuck, she would be going back on an implicit promise to protect him – not only from physical harm, but from being shut away in a bunker somewhere and losing his friends and family. Leaving meant taking everything that mattered away from him, herself included.

Of course, if she stayed, there was a good chance that her emotions would unexpectedly take over. If they took over at the wrong time, there would be more serious consequences than a fistfight with her sister.

That might be solved by coming out and admitting her feelings for Chuck, but if the two of them dated, her emotions might interfere with her protection of him. The results could be disastrous for both of them.

The smart move was to go with Bryce and let somebody else protect Chuck. The problem there was that Chuck might not last in the field without Sarah: he relied upon Sarah and trusted her. The DoD needed to find out just how powerful the Intersect could be in the field, and she might be the only person who could guide Chuck down that path. Didn't she have a duty to follow through on that?

What hurt the most was that, if she didn't follow through on her feelings for Chuck now, she might lose that opportunity forever. Chuck couldn't be expected to wait until they didn't work together. Besides, as he had said, when that finally happened they might not be able to see where their feelings would take them.

The circle continued, never-ending. Sarah returned to her perch near the headboard and wrapped her arms around her knees again.

Was Carina right? Was the best decision to stay where she was until she got her head around what she should do? Or would the extra time do her any good?

She still had no clue, but the clock was ticking. It was 6:00; she had one hour before Chuck would be serving dinner.

**Scene LXXI – Casa Bartowski, Kitchen**

Chuck peered helplessly into the oven. Two tiny crocks covered with pastry stared quizzically back at him. "So, sis', are the Beef Wellingtons ready to come out?"

The sound of a knife rapidly thwacking against a cutting board filled the apartment again, as it had for much of the past 90 minutes. Ellie busily minced a pear to go into the salad. "Dunno," she answered. "How do they look? Brown on top?"

"Just a touch."

"I'd give them three or four more minutes."

The over squeaked in protest as Chuck closed the door; he reset the timer. Left without much to do, he looked around the kitchen with something resembling despair.

As if Chuck needed yet another reason to be depressed about the evening, his sister had discovered what he was planning on cooking for Sarah: spaghetti, garlic bread, and a garden salad. Ellie was horrified.

"Oh, God, you are not," she had gasped. "You're trying to get things back on track with Sarah, and you're serving her spaghetti with sauce from a jar?!"

"I thought it was the thought that mattered."

"Don't you know anything about women, Chuck?! They want to be swept off their feet." She rushed into the kitchen and started pulling things out of various corners of the refrigerator.

"What, having your sister cook dinner does that?"

"It shows the kind of trouble you'll go through for her."

Chuck rolled his eyes. He had gotten into enough trouble over Sarah, thank you very much. "I hate this holiday," he muttered to himself.

"What's that?

"Nothing."

Trapped by the situation, he had assisted as best he could while his sister furiously cooked for nearly two hours. He wanted to tell Ellie to stop, that she was cooking for a woman who would likely not be showing up anyway and certainly one who wouldn't be showing up on time.

Sleeping with a woman's sister and then leaving five emotional voice mails tended to have that effect. Chuck didn't pretend to know much about women, but he knew that much.

In fairness, he wasn't as hard on himself as he once would have been. Chuck was comfortable that he had given Sarah every opportunity he could have; she had turned him down nearly every step of the way. If the events of last night ended up being the margin of error, he could live with that. At least, the rational side of him could live with that.

A small part of him still wanted to believe that she had decided to come back for him and only him, and that if he hadn't slept with Carina, she would have showed up on time tonight. The scene ran through his head, just as it had several days ago.

_The doorbell rang. Chuck looked at the clock: it read 6:59. His face lit up with the realization of what that meant._

_As the clock struck 7:00, Chuck opened the door. Sarah stood there with a slight hesitant smile and a single red rose. At the sight of him, the hesitancy faded away and was replaced by utter certainty. He put a hand on her cheek and leaned down to kiss her; her smile faded into seriousness as her eyes dropped to his approaching lips…_

The oven timer let out a gentle ding. Sadly, he shook himself from his daydream.

He opened the oven door; the pastry looked lightly browned and flaky. It was perfect, as was the salad, and the green beans with almonds, the bread, and the red wine Ellie donated from her personal stash, already decanted and breathing on the counter. Using an oven mitt, he moved the tray with the two crocks to the stovetop to cool.

Ellie scraped every last little bit of pear from the cutting board onto the salad. Wiping her hands on a towel, she made one final check of everything with an approving expression. She glanced at the clock. "Crap! Nearly seven. Gotta run." She gave him a peck on the cheek and looked him in the eye with a loving smile. "Good luck," she whispered. "I know it will go great." She hurried off to her bedroom.

Awesome was picking her up about 7:15; he had played up the fact he had to work that night and secretly made arrangements to take her to Il Cielo for a romantic meal. Having the wedding there turned out to be prohibitively expensive, so Devon had made arrangements to take her there for their special Valentine's dinner instead. Ellie had been so excited when Devon had told her where they were going that she had actually squealed. Still, she had put that all aside for Chuck; now she had only twenty minutes to get ready.

He looked around at the feast Ellie had whipped up nearly from scratch. Everything was perfect, especially his sister.

He gave a bittersweet sigh: it was time to complete the façade for the evening. Chuck trudged back to his room to put on slacks and a nice button-down shirt.

All that was left to do was to wait for Sarah's late appearance … if she made any appearance at all.

**Scene LXXII – Casa Bartowski, Courtyard**

Sarah strolled through the dark courtyard towards Ellie's apartment. She glanced at her watch; it was closing in on 10:00 pm, well after the 7:00 pm time Chuck had set for dinner.

She strode up to the door and rang the bell. It was only then that she realized she still had no real idea what she would say to him. She caught herself intertwining her hands in front of her; she forced her arms stiffly to her sides. She tried to release the tension in her shoulders while she waited for someone to answer.

Muffled footsteps from the interior hardwood announced somebody's approach to the door. Chuck opened the door, a dishrag slung over the shoulder of his neatly pressed black button-down shirt. His hair was delightfully mussed, but his face was tired.

He seemed slightly surprised to see her, but that was his only real reaction. His face didn't light up the way it often did when she appeared. That hurt her more than she thought it could.

"Hey," was all she could think to say. She tried to smile. She had no idea whether she succeeded.

"Hey," he responded in a quiet and emotionless voice. "Wasn't sure I'd see you tonight. Or again." He yanked the towel off his shoulder and wiped his hands, giving him an excuse to avoid her eyes.

Glancing beyond him, she saw a small, intimate table set up for dinner; the place setting on the far side had obviously been used. A pair of tall, unlit candles had been partially burnt down, separated by a simple white vase with a single red rose. She could almost see herself at that table, sipping red wine in the candlelight and laughing at some joke Chuck had made. Unfortunately, that ship had sailed some hours ago.

Ellie, wearing a stunning blue dress and a tasteful application of make-up, was shuttling a mostly-full serving dish of salad into the kitchen. She set it on the counter and turned to see who was at the door. When she spotted Sarah, her lips pursed slightly before she turned away.

The dishes used to cook and serve the food were stacked near the sink. Devon wore a clean white apron to protect his crisp brown shirt and tie as he tackled the pile. His look, directed over one shoulder, was also cool and joyless.

Searching for a safe perch, her eyes wandered back to the table. She noticed an untouched pastry-covered crock on the near plate. She felt a pang of guilt for Ellie's effort; Chuck certainly couldn't have cooked anything like that. The guilt only grew when she realized how Chuck must have hurt as he watched his sister prepare a dinner that he suspected Sarah would never taste.

Her eyes wandered back to study his face. There was a deep sadness that normally wasn't there. He was trying to hide his pain, but he couldn't. All he could do was hide from her, right in front of her. Her heart ached.

Sarah just stared at Chuck for a long moment. She had only been away for four days, but so much had happened to both of them that they seemed like strangers in some ways.

Strangely, in other ways she felt much closer to him now. She understood now what he must have gone through, what she had unknowingly, or at least unthinkingly, put him through. Seeing the accusing looks given to her by Chuck and his family only accentuated that point, giving rise to another pang of regret.

All of that threatened to get lost every time he stole a peek at her. Those melancholy, deep brown eyes threatened to engulf her every time they glanced up from the towel in his hands. How she wished she could let herself be lost in those eyes.

She swallowed hard. She still didn't know what to say. The words wouldn't come. Desperately, she searched for another distraction.

To the side of the door on the coffee table sat a cardboard box with an open top. Inside she saw the belongings that she had left deliberately scattered around the apartment to lend more weight to their cover: a plain green sweatshirt, a dog-eared Sudoku book, some hair bands, the toothbrush he had given her, and the picture of the two of them from the Halloween party.

He was already prepared for the 'break-up'. She could only assume he was prepared for the good byes as well.

No matter how hard she tried, the words still wouldn't come. It was so frustrating. Sarah Walker could take on trained assassins and drug kingpins without freezing up. She could find the right words to seduce rich businessmen and gain the trust of diplomats without thinking twice. Why couldn't she find the words for Chuck?

For his part, Chuck seemed content to continue to dry his hands with his towel, examining his hands for the traces of moisture long since absorbed by the coarse fabric. He seemed prepared to rub his hands raw before he would say a word, as he had done so many other times in the past to rescue her when words failed her.

He didn't deserve to twist in the wind like this. She set her jaw. She took a small step forward and pulled the dish towel from his hand.

He looked irritated. Robbed of his excuse to avoid her eyes, he looked up as if to make an irascible barb of some kind. The words died on his lips as he noticed her proximity. The sadness on his face was replaced by confusion.

She watched him try to hide, to look away, to escape. He was hurting from all that had happened and what he suspected was about to happen. It wasn't fair for Chuck to hurt like this. She promised herself that she would find a way to make it up to him somehow. For now, there was one thing left to do.

Sarah gathered herself. After a last, deep breath, she forced herself to look him in the eye. She took a step forward, removing what little distance was between them, and dropped the towel to the ground.

His lips parted as if to protest.

With her eyes locked on his until the last possible moment, she slowly rose up to her toes and gently smothered his protests.

She kissed him.

At first, the touch of her lips was soft, almost delicate. Her movements were slow and tentative, waiting for him to respond.

He was either unwilling or unable to do so, so her lips patiently began to caress his, cherishing different points on each lip. _This is how I feel,_ her mouth said.

Sarah felt his confusion in his tepid response. She sensed him leaving, trying to create separation between them. She put her right hand gently behind his head, resting lightly on the curled locks. _Stay. Please. Listen to what I'm saying. _

In the silence of her hotel room, she had remembered something she had told Bryce: she had changed the day he disappeared. She wasn't the same person that she was before. What she couldn't say was who she had become.

Despite the change, Sarah had been trying to live her life the same way. She awoke each day, repressing her emotions and wrapping herself in her duty in a vain effort to protect herself from all forms of harm. Bryce had taught her the painful lesson that there was no sure protection from getting hurt. He had hurt her both professionally and personally.

Chuck taught her a far gentler version of the lesson, unconsciously brushing aside her defenses as if they were cobwebs. He was so different than the other people in her world – and he saw her differently than anyone else. She realized that was partially because she was different when she was around him. She both liked and feared that change.

She wasn't the same person she was before, but one thing hadn't changed: she wasn't going to run from a fight.

She wanted to be the Sarah Walker reflected in the dark brown pools that were Chuck's eyes, the Sarah Walker at whom he gazed adoringly when he thought she wasn't looking. The only way to do that was to be with Chuck … and damn the consequences.

The new Sarah Walker would find a way to make it work.

If it wasn't too late.

She kissed him deeper, opening her mouth slightly to invite, not demand, a response. Given all that had happened, she knew she had no right to demand. Instead, her mouth tried to convey every ounce of emotion she was feeling, admitting what they both had suspected for so long.

It was the only way she knew to explain it all. She kissed him. _I want us to be together._

Chuck still didn't really respond. His eyes were closed but his expression was confused; he was more a victim of the kiss than a participant.

Her hand slid from behind his head to his cheek, allowing him to pull away if he chose. With a few last pleading kisses, she delivered one more message. _Chuck, please don't let it be too late…_

As if her silent plea had pushed him over the edge, he suddenly melted. With a deep intake of breath, he pressed his mouth strongly against hers.

Her heart leapt and her knees weakened. She wrapped her left arm around his lower back to steady her balance, her other hand stroking his hair before dropping to the back of his neck as she pressed back with a fervor.

He slid his left arm behind her waist and his right around her shoulders, pulling her tense body tightly against his. The tension drained from her; she became soft and supple as she kissed him hungrily.

Across the room, Ellie wrung her hands up near her chin as she watched the two embrace, a delighted smile on her face. Devon, sporting a big grin of his own, tapped her on the shoulder. Ellie stole a last, satisfied look at the couple as she and Devon made a discreet exit.

The kiss lasted for a long, delicious moment as their passion ran its course. Eventually, after an indeterminate amount of time had passed, the two released each other. Chuck guided her slowly back onto the soles of her feet, his hands on her waist.

Her hands on his arms, she watched his face. As she watched, the corners of his mouth turned up the slightest bit as his stunned disbelief faded into the wondrous, joyous smile that she had pictured in her daydreams. His smile was like the sun coming up.

Nervously, Sarah took a small step back. She had dared envision the kiss a few times in her daydreams, but she had never thought about the moment following; she had no idea what to do next. Emotions still tailed wildly through her body; she didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, or both.

Suddenly shy, she moved a lock of hair back behind one ear before she slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans, causing her shoulders to shrug slightly. With wild eyes and a similar smile, she forced herself to look at Chuck.

With a shuddering, slightly ironic voice, she tilted her head to the side and said, "Sorry I'm late."

_Ed. Note - epilogue still to come. Thanks again to **Go Chuck Go** for the advice._


	24. Deleted scene: A Buy More Valentine

_Ed. Note – This scene was originally slated to fall between Scenes LXVIII (Chuck's voice mails to Sarah) and LXIX (Sarah confronts Carina in her hotel room). I ended up dropping the scene because I felt the humor slowed the momentum of the emotions that the characters were working through. However, I'm not going to be able to use it anywhere else. Since it was already finished, I thought it was funny enough to go ahead and publish on its own. Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

**Scene – Buy More**

Chuck sat in his car in the parking lot at the Buy More plaza, staring at the Wienerlicious. He could still see the friendly, and maybe slightly more than friendly, smile on Sarah's face as she wiped down the counter four days ago.

How quickly things had changed.

He was still in a daze from the events of the last twelve hours. He had slept with Sarah's sister. There was so much about the very idea that he couldn't get his head around. He had been utterly prepared to turn Carina down, somehow, until he had learned that Sarah was off with Bryce.

As always, the chaos seemed to begin and end with Bryce Larkin. How many times was the guy going to appear from nowhere to throw a wrench into Chuck's life?

After finding out that Carina was Sarah's sister, a feeling of overwhelming guilt had overtaken him. He had tried to go home and sleep it off, but all he could think about was that someday, when Sarah inevitably found out from Carina that the two had slept together, he dreaded her feeling like he had lashed out at her in any kind of way.

Lacking any other hope of getting her a message, Chuck had poured his heart out to Sarah's voice mail, saying his piece and his goodbyes in the hopes she would check her mailbox before moving on. Given the circumstances, he hadn't been able to say everything that was in his heart, but he felt better for trying. The outpouring allowed him to finally fall asleep with a cleaner conscience.

That morning, he had found out that Sarah was coming back to Los Angeles. He still didn't know why she was returning, but Sarah was going to get all five of his voice mails before he had a chance to tell her in person.

After he found out about her return, he had rushed back to his house and called her one last time, hoping to minimize the damage. In the end, he probably had made things even worse.

What a fool he was.

He had been hurting when he found out Sarah was with Bryce the night before. Now he was truly despondent. Even if she were planning on staying, his actions likely messed up any chance the two of them had.

He realized that a fair portion of the mess was Sarah's fault: the simplest of messages would have prevented any of this from happening. However, it didn't make him hurt any less to place blame at Sarah's feet: what he wanted was Sarah, and now that wasn't going to happen.

He forced himself to climb out of his car. Sitting in his car wasn't going to make him feel any better.

Chuck slogged to the front doors of the Buy More. He couldn't believe he had to come into work. He was supposed to have the day off, but thirty minutes prior, Big Mike had left him a harried and cryptic message about needing him in the store and to get there as soon as possible. This had to be the ugliest Valentine's Day he could remember.

His opinion didn't change when he entered the store.

As the automatic doors swung open, he was confronted with a huge banner. The black sign with white lettering read, "Love Yourself This Valentine's Day!"

The double entendre staggered him. Chuck stood stock-still between the automatic doors staring at the sign for a long moment, so long that the motion sensor thought he was gone and tried to shut the glass doors. He grunted as the doors hit him; he stumbled into the store as the doors roughly jerked back at the unexpected impediment.

Posted near the front of the store was a full-page ad from the local paper. The title read: _"Love Hurts – But Not As Much As Missing This Sale Would!"_

Underneath, the text read, "Feel all alone this Valentine's Day? Hardly. Come join your friends at the Buy More as we celebrate not spending 50 on a bunch of flowers that will just die in two days and 25 to go watch a romantic comedy that you'll hate. Join us as we give you the chance to pick out a gift you can use rather than receive a box of stale chocolates and a terribly unsentimental card.

"Hallmark wants you to feel bad if you're alone, but we know better, don't we? The expression shouldn't be 'Lucky in love,' it should be 'We're lucky we're not in love.' Come celebrate with us."

The rant might as well have had Lester's signature underneath it. Chuck shook his head.

The ad had a series of similar slogans for different items on sale:

"_Love is Cold – But Not As Cold As This Refrigerator!"_

"_Love Sucks – But Not As Hard as This Vacuum!"_

"_Love Blows – But Not As Much As This Box Fan!"_

Chuck quickly spotted the signs with the same slogans scattered appropriately around the store. There were some additional ones that weren't in the newspaper ad, which probably was a good thing.

"'_Erotic Thrillers'. Wink, Wink. On Sale!"_

"_This Washing Machine Handles Unbalanced Loads!"_

"_World of Warcraft – Smack the Snake, Smite the Dragon, and Slap Around the Cyclops!"_

Chuck shuddered.

What was stunning was that the store was truly much busier than usual. People actually seemed to be responding to the ads. A dozen green shirts were hectically running around trying to keep up with the sheer volume of customers. Lines at the registers were full of people treating themselves to a Valentine's Day gift, often a big ticket luxury item of some kind.

Looking around in shock, Chuck made his way through the crowds towards the Nerd Herd desk. He dodged customer after customer carrying products towards the register, including Casey helping a 300-pound man wheel a 50-inch plasma screen towards the front of the store. Casey shot Chuck a tight little grin; he actually seemed to be enjoying the chaos.

Chuck set his bag down on the Nerd Herd counter, an island in the sea of rampant consumerism. Lester noticed him, and leaned back in his office chair, hands behind his head. "So, Chuck … what do you think?"

"I think the store is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Did Big Mike know about all of this?"

Lester stood up. "Of course. He loved it. And the proof, as they say, is in the pudding." He waved an arm around the store. "You seem to have been wrong about Valentine's Day not being a major holiday. Apparently, the Buy More brass is already talking about taking this type of campaign nationwide next year."

A nationwide campaign?! Yeesh. However, Chuck found it hard to argue that Big Mike and Buy More executives wouldn't love the increased sales volume. He turned back to look at Lester. "Well, it seems like you discovered a whole new market: the disgruntled, lonely Valentine. Congratulations. Big Mike must be over the moon."

"He is." Lester's expression turned smug. "Oh, and just so you heard it from me, Chuck: Big Mike is so impressed that he's thinking about sliding me into the Assistant Manager's position."

"Wha-ah?!"

Lester's face only grew more smug. "That's right, Chuck. I'm going to be your boss. What do you think about that?"

"I think that there is no way this day can get any worse."

"Normally, Chuck, that type of dig would hurt. It really would. However, as Assistant Manager, I need to rise above that kind of remark."

"You're not Assistant Manager yet, you know."

"You're right. That means I can say, 'I'm going to make your life hell, Bartowski,' and not feel it's at all inappropriate." Lester patted Chuck on the shoulder and chuckled, "God, I'm going to make you suffer, Chuck. I really am." He walked away laughing to himself.

Chuck had already felt nauseous when he came into the Buy More, but now he was completely sick to his stomach. He looked around the store for Morgan. With all of the missions and the cover with Sarah taking up his time, he really hadn't been spending nearly enough time with his best friend; right now, he could really use his buddy.

That wasn't going to happen. As he scanned the store, he saw Anna walk through the front door. She wore her typical Buy More uniform: an untucked white button-down, an inappropriately short skirt, and a large amount of make-up. She tried to sort through the crowds, searching for one face.

"Morgan?" she yelled, her voice somehow carrying over the din.

"Anna?!" Morgan bellowed from Consumer Electronics. Chuck spotted him; his friend ran down the aisle, bouncing like a pogo stick as he desperately tried to gain the height to see over the display shelves.

Anna couldn't locate him. "Morgan??"

Morgan ran over and jumped up onto the Nerd Herd counter right next to Chuck, completely ignoring his friend. He finally located her. "Anna!!"

Anna spotted Morgan on his perch. Her face lit up. "Morgan!!"

Somehow, the sea of customers seemed to part for the two of them. Anna dropped her backpack and ran towards Morgan, her face glowing with happiness.

Morgan jumped down off the desk and promptly fell flat on his face. He was quickly up, tennis shoes skidding a bit as he tried to gain enough traction to run for Anna.

The two met with a collision halfway down the aisle. Anna leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist; she planted a furious series of kisses on his face. Morgan squeezed her as tightly as he could and tried to return the flurry of quick kisses. Finally, the pair settled into the passionate kiss of lovers separated for far too long.

Chuck smiled. At least his friend was happy.

As if Morgan and Anna's kiss was a cue, suddenly the entire Buy More seemed to be struck by Cupid's arrow.

Jeff and Lisa found each other and began to kiss in a way that did nothing to quell the nausea in Chuck's stomach. He was more than a little disgusted.

Fernando was being cuddled by his surprisingly hot girlfriend, an Adriana Lima lookalike who had a good six inches of height on him. She had apparently found time to slip away from her job; she was kissing her hellos very enthusiastically. Chuck raised an amused eyebrow.

Almost following the theme, Big Mike put an arm around Lester and squeezed him tight in congratulations, looking for all the world like he wanted to plant a big one on Lester. The two exchanged huge grins as they looked around at all the customers that Lester's advertising campaign had brought in.

Chuck sadly shook his head at the buzz of happiness that filled the store. The scene wouldn't be nearly as cheerful at Ellie's apartment that night. He just wished he could go ahead and get it all over with.


	25. Epilogue: Aftershocks

**

* * *

**

Scene LXXIII – Casa Bartowski

Chuck lay on his bed, his arms behind his head. He could still taste her on his lips. Occasionally, a lingering tremble or shiver shot through his system as a particular memory of their moment haunted him.

He still couldn't believe she had kissed him. He let out a disbelieving laugh.

When she hadn't shown up for dinner, he had written her off as gone. The same held when she showed up at his door, completely uncertain of what to say. She generally knew exactly what to say, unless she knew what she had to tell him would hurt him. This time, it had been the opposite.

She had kissed him, deliberately and passionately. He was still so stunned by it that his mind couldn't really wrap around it. There were so many questions, not the least of which was, "How the hell could I sleep with your sister one night and have you kissing me the next?"

Those questions could wait for another day. What mattered was that she kissed him … and the way she had kissed him.

He closed his eyes and savored another flashback of their bodies and lips pressed together. This time, a contented sigh escaped him as his eyes opened with a dreamy, satisfied look.

The only fly in the ointment was Casey. The apartment was bugged, and Chuck understood that it could get bad if Casey found out that the two were involved. He would feel obligated to report it, and the last thing Chuck wanted was for Sarah to get reassigned.

As much as it had hurt, after a brief, hushed conversation he had given her an all-too-short good-night kiss and watched her head over to Casey's. In a way, it was good that she couldn't stay. It would have felt odd to spend the night with Sarah the night after he had slept with Carina.

He missed Sarah terribly, but it was a much, much different feeling than while she had been off on her other mission. He wanted to call her, to talk to her as she drove home, to hear her voice. He wanted to tell her about the mission, and how badly the team had functioned without her, and how he had discovered the hidden passage that had saved the day. However, Casey could figure out what was going on even from that type of cue, so any type of communication with Sarah was out, for now.

Patience was going to be the hardest part, especially for him.

Still, he was a man who spent the evening waiting to say goodbye, so he found it reasonably easy to be content with what he had: the memory of an electrifying kiss and the comforting knowledge that he would see Sarah again tomorrow.

He stared at the watch she had given him for a long time. He felt a bit guilty that he had given up on her last night and that he had struggled to trust her at other times.

Chuck vowed not to make that mistake again.

He closed his eyes with a smile.

**Scene LXXIV– Casey's Apartment**

Casey, arms folded, towered over Sarah in the center of his apartment. "All right, Walker, time to come clean. Why the hell are you staying in Los Angeles?"

For her part, Sarah seemed completely unfazed by Casey's manner. "I decided this was the better assignment for me."

His eyes squinted. "C'mon, you had a chance to go after Fulcrum. Answering to nobody. Going deep undercover. How could you pass that up?"

"Just because that's your dream mission doesn't mean it's mine."

"So your dream mission is working at the Weinerlicious and guarding the alpha nerd of the local Buy More?"

Sarah, her face the picture of calm, explained, "It's the best use of me right now. Replacing me would mean taking a chance that the new agent had Fulcrum ties. It would damage the cover, because we'd have to find a way to introduce somebody new into Chuck's life. Not to mention that we don't know how Chuck would react to a new handler. He can be a little flaky at times."

"No argument there. But can you look me in the eye and tell me that the decision had nothing to do with Chuck?"

"Of course not," she shrugged.

"What?!"

"There's more than one way to go after Fulcrum. How many times have we defused a Fulcrum plot because of Chuck? How many criminals have we discovered, and apprehended, because of the Intersect? It's critical that we keep Chuck in the field, and I know you'd agree that there's a good chance that he would fall apart or end up in a bunker somewhere if you or I left. We have a rapport and a trust that's taken months to build up, and you can't replace that overnight.

"The DoD needs Chuck in the field, and Chuck needs me here, just like he needs you here. Putting any other agent on this case would be a big mistake."

He stared her down for a long moment, as she knew he would. She almost had him believing, at least as much as he ever would believe. It was a perfectly reasonable argument.

Still, his expression remained dubious. His eyes narrowed. "What about Chuck's little crush on you, or your feelings for him?"

"What about them? You mentioned that he slept with Carina last night, right?"

Casey had gleefully told her that little tidbit almost as soon as she arrived; his face fell when she told him that Chuck had described the "fireworks" the previous night. Casey had obviously wanted to be the one to tell her.

"He seemed to be heading over there, and he didn't get home until the middle of the night, so that seems to be a reasonable assumption." Casey's face betrayed the slightest hint of irritation, along with something else.

_Jealousy, maybe? _she wondered to herself._ Interesting. He's probably just jealous that Carina only tied him to bedposts while she actually slept with Chuck, although Lord help me if John Casey has any type of real interest in my sister._

She set that aside. "I think it's safe to say that his crush on me is pretty much done. Chuck isn't exactly the type to sleep around. As for me, I think the past two months have shown that my personal feelings, whatever they might be, are no issue. I told you I would make things right, and I have."

"So what did you tell him?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. 'I'm back', 'I'll be staying', 'I wanted to tell you in person', 'I need to go get some sleep', and 'I'll see you tomorrow'. Listen for yourself."

Again, he tried to get her to reveal something by staring her down; he was unable to get her to break. His face finally told her that she had him. "OK, Walker. Back on our regular schedule tomorrow?"

"Sounds good. I'm going to get some sleep."

"I'll see you at 0800."

With a friendly smile, she walked to the door and let herself out of his apartment. After the door shut behind her, her smile vanished. She allowed herself a quick, longing look at the light in Chuck's window before forcing herself to turn and walk to her car.

In some ways, nothing had changed: when she really wanted to be with Chuck, she couldn't be with him. She sighed.

Her face became pensive as she left the courtyard. She would need to be very careful around Casey. She corrected herself: they both would need to be very careful around Casey. She and Chuck were already planning on having a long conversation tomorrow at lunch. There were details to be worked out, and Chuck was going to need a crash course on how to keep the truth from Casey.

Sarah wasn't sure if she was fooling herself about the prospect of keeping their romance hidden from him. While her decision hadn't exactly been impulsive, she certainly hadn't worked through all the details yet. There were so many things to worry about - but not tonight.

Tonight, she was going to relive every last second of their kiss and savor every last emotion that the memory elicited. She was going to wrap herself in the knowledge that she would see Chuck again tomorrow. She was going to anticipate the way he would look at her when she saw him tomorrow, and the person that she would see reflected in his eyes.

Sarah's grin unconsciously reappeared in full force as she floated back to her car. Chuck's expression from just after their kiss dominated her thoughts and was unknowingly mirrored on her face.

Her cheeks already hurt from all her smiling.

* * *

Back in the apartment, Casey sat down in his recliner, replaying the conversation in his head.

He wasn't buying it.

Walker had cobbled together a reasonable story for why she had returned and had delivered it masterfully to him. As always, he was impressed with her performance. She was certainly excellent at her job.

Then again, so was he.

He had seen the hurt in Bartowski's eyes firsthand when Casey let it slip that Sarah was off with Bryce. Casey had seen the confusion when he told Chuck that Sarah was coming back. The crush wasn't over, unless Carina had somehow screwed it out of him.

General Beckman had filled him in on the details of Walker's choice. The two of them had already been discussing what would happen when, not if, Walker left for her new assignment with Larkin. Both Beckman and Graham would be surprised by her decision.

He frowned as he thought it all through. He had to concede that it was possible that Larkin and Walker had some type of lingering friction between them. It would be entirely professional of Walker to turn down the mission because of those concerns and just like her not to reveal those issues to Casey.

Also, would she really be fine with Chuck hooking up with Carina if Sarah had feelings for the guy? Casey expected her to fly completely off the handle at the news, but if there was any lingering resentment, she was certainly hiding it well.

Theoretically, her story could be on the up-and-up. He needed to confirm what why she decided to return. He thought for a moment.

Sarah's arrival did not trigger the motion sensor devices on the property, but she had been known to avoid them on other occasions. As an agent, dodging known motion sensors became instinct. He couldn't read anything into that, especially with her just returning from the field.

However, the surveillance equipment was still in place in Bartowski's apartment; there might be something there. Casey slipped on the headphones and flipped the switch to turn on the receiver. He scanned back to about half an hour prior to when she must have arrived, listening to the audio from the bug by the front door.

In the background, he could hear the sounds of the sink running and dishes being cleaned. The two Bartowski's and the future in-law talked as they worked. Walker wasn't coming. Bartowski was sad. Maybe she had a good reason to miss dinner. Blah blah blah. He forced himself to listen to the blather in case anything was revealed.

The recording started to register static. The doorbell rang.

Bartowski opened the door. The listening device near the door registered nothing but white noise.

Conveniently, when Sarah had arrived at the Bartowski's that night, the listening device near the door had malfunctioned.

_Pretty clever, Walker_, he grudgingly conceded.

Standard CIA issue for a mission abroad was an anti-eavesdropping device built into the cell phone. The cell phone still worked, but anybody who tried to eavesdrop got nothing but static. That would affect the devices that he had planted. Sure enough, the three devices in the main living area registered nothing but white noise.

Walker could have forgotten to disable the device when she returned. That gave her deniability.

Once again, he wasn't buying it. She was too thorough for that. No matter: she wouldn't be able to use that trick again.

Given the length of the static on the recording and the fact that none of the other devices were affected, he was able to ascertain that Walker had only stayed for about fifteen minutes and had never set foot in the house. He was disappointed when Bartowski went directly back to his room without talking to his sister; he could have easily given something away there.

No matter. Walker may be able to hide things from him, but Bartowski was a terrible liar. Casey would find out the truth from him the next day.

**Scene LXXV – Caracas, Venezuela, Bar**

Bryce Larkin sat alone at a bar, decked out in black shirt and black slacks. He leaned on the bar with his left arm, making a bitter face as he drained the amber liquid from an old-fashioned glass. He placed the glass on the counter next to two of its brothers.

"Dos mas, por favor," he ordered the bartender. He caught the bartender disdainfully shaking his head at the way Bryce was putting away the bourbon, but he really didn't care.

As he waited for his order, he thought about what Sarah told him before she left. Her arguments about why she was heading back to Los Angeles had been fairly convincing, almost reasonable.

Trouble was: she was lying. At least, she wasn't telling the whole truth.

During the trip, he caught her unconsciously fiddling with her heart-shaped necklace a few times when she was lost in thought. Ever curious, he had examined the necklace while she was in the shower the day she left, finding the picture of her and Chuck inside, along with Chuck's note.

No, this wasn't just about the mission for Sarah. She wasn't any good at talking about her feelings, but she wasn't much better at hiding them, certainly not from him. He knew her too well.

Sarah wasn't going back only because she thought Chuck needed her protection. It was more than that. Consciously or not, she was going back because she thought she had feelings for Chuck.

Sarah really should have known better than to mistake her feelings for her asset for something real. Maybe this was just her way of running away from him again: Chuck was a great guy, but hardly the type to appeal to a hardened agent like Sarah. Or had the last six months created more distance and doubt between them than he had thought?

It really didn't matter. He needed her back. Out in the field, Sarah was the only one he could trust. He needed his partner back. He was even willing to admit that he wanted his lover back.

He could feel the job slowly eating away at him. It had already cost him far too much; he wasn't ready to surrender more without a fight. Sarah would help.

The bartender placed two more glasses on the bar in front of Bryce. Bryce picked up one of the glasses and raised it into the air. "Sorry, buddy," he said softly, before taking a long sip.

He would find a way to make Sarah his again. It wasn't over.

**Scene LXXVI – Darkened Office**

A soft tone and a small pop-up window announced the incoming email. The note was quickly launched in a new window.

Drew Jennings had sent a lengthy message: seven pages about various Congressional matters, ranging from farm subsidies to tax reform to fundraising. As always, the truly important information was buried about 80 of the way through.

_Do you remember when I asked your advice about how to stand up for people in your district? Well, I've been standing up for a businessman named Jamie Veron for some time now; the DEA seemed to be after him for no good reason. Today I found out that the DEA was right: he is a major drug dealer, and now the DEA has him in custody. Any advice on how to manage the situation? This could come back to haunt me during the elections._

The shadowy figure slammed the desk in frustration.

It had taken a long time to get Veron in place, and even longer to get the DEA on a short enough leash that Veron had the freedom to do what Fulcrum needed him to do. If Veron was gone, a major cog in their operations was gone.

Veron had been handing funds out to five different Fulcrum cells. Two of those cells were now gone: Tommy and his crew, and Gomes and his crew. Now the funds for the other three cells were gone as well, crippling their West Coast operations until they could find a new way to get money to them.

Between Veron, Tommy, and Gomes, American agents had disrupted their operations three different times in the last four months. How was that possible?

Fulcrum needed to know.

The figure pressed 'Reply' in his email client and started typing, the clickety-clack of the keyboard dully echoing off the walls.

_Regarding Mr. Veron, only by learning from the mistakes of history can we prevent from repeating them. I would review everything that happened to learn how anyone could have seen this coming. My only other recommendation: try to stay out in front of the issue. I'll be happy to discuss this with you, if you feel it would be useful._

The figure re-read the paragraph and was satisfied. Jennings was reasonably bright; he would pick up on the instructions to use his position on the Select Committee on Intelligence to secure any information on the arrest as soon as possible and pass it along. As Veron was doing business in his district, it wouldn't look too odd for Jennings to be interested in the report.

Pulling open a drawer, the figure checked that the report on Tommy's arrest was still safely tucked away. It was probably time to get the report on Gomes' arrest so that the three reports could be compared side-by-side to determine any common factors. Maybe then there would be something that Fulcrum could do to stop the bleeding.

* * *

_Ed. Note – thus concludes another really, really long story. Thanks for your patience; it's difficult to write something this long and this complicated and keep the flow going._

_For anyone who has followed this story, I'd like to ask something in return: please take a few minutes to drop me a PM about what you think about the final product. It can be anything, from the style to the balance of characters to word selection to the scenes you thought worked or didn't work. I love criticism, so don't worry about mincing words._

_The only payback I receive from writing these is words of appreciation and things that readers tell me that can help me to improve my skills, so I would greatly appreciate a few minutes of your time. Thanks!_


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